"I swear, I don't know anything! I'm telling the truth!" the bald man screamed as Milagros, without a hint of hesitation, began to twist his fingers backward. The crunch that followed made Letecia flinch despite herself.

The Bonacon no longer looked like a monster. After that violent, melting transformation that had left him trembling and slick with sweat, all that remained was a pitiful, pale man. His skin was ashen, his eyes darted about in panic, and his breath came in broken bursts. William almost felt sorry for him—almost.

"Well, damn," he muttered, watching Milagros roll up her sleeves. "And this is the thing that almost tore us apart?"

"It was a monster," she said flatly, "now it's just meat."

Without a trace of emotion, she took hold of the man's other hand.

He whimpered, eyes flicking between them like a cornered animal. He was still reeling from being human again, still blinking in disbelief, when Milagros launched into her interrogation.

"Milá," Letecia started softly as she stepped closer, "maybe we could try somethin' else? Ain't gotta be all breakin' bones. I can calm him, make him talk—without…" She nodded toward the mangled finger still clutched in Milagros's hand.

"Without pain?" Milagros narrowed her eyes, as though the very word offended her. "This bastard tried to kill us. Pain's the only language he understands now."

She slapped the man sharply across the face. The sound cracked through the night air, heavy and dull.

"Don't scream," she said quietly—almost tenderly—and he froze, eyes wide with terror.

"Just tell me," she went on, voice dropping into a smoky whisper, "how many more hunters are after me? Do that, and I promise your parts stay attached."

She leaned in close, her boot pressing against his thigh. He understood the threat instantly. Sweat pooled on his brow; his throat worked dryly as he tried to form words.

"I—I already told you! I don't know anything!" he stammered, each word trembling. "They just… sent me here. I don't know who. I don't remember why. I swear, it's all fragments… like a dream!"

"Oh? A dream?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth twitched. "How interesting." She pushed down slightly harder with her boot.

William folded his arms.

"You know," he said under his breath, "if you castrate him now, talking won't be much of an option."

"On the contrary," Milagros shot back, still focused on her captive. "He'll scream loud enough to wake the truth itself."

Letecia stepped closer, laying a hand gently on Milagros's shoulder. Her touch was calm but carried quiet authority.

"Milá, sugar… let me try," she said softly, her accent thick and honey-warm. "Ah can feel the fear in him. He ain't lyin'—not right now, anyhow."

Milagros was silent for a long beat. The air between them felt taut, humming with restrained energy. Finally, she exhaled, unclenching her fist.

"All right. But if your charm doesn't work, I'll finish this my way. And trust me—there's still plenty left in him to break."

Letecia nodded, offering the faintest, knowing smile. "Fair enough, darlin'."

She moved closer, kneeling before the man with slow, fluid grace. Each motion was deliberate, soothing—like a mother calming a frightened child.

"Look at me," she whispered. "Don't be starin' at them. Eyes on me, honey."

He lifted his gaze—muddy, desperate, searching.

"It's all right," she murmured, brushing her warm palm across his cheek. As she spoke, a thin ribbon of soft silver-blue light began to coil from her lips, drifting lazily through the moonlight between them. "Ain't no reason to be scared no more. All that hurt, all that fear—it's behind you now. There ain't no enemies here. We're friends, you hear? Just trust me. Let it go."

His breathing steadied. The tension drained from his face, bit by bit. A fragile, bewildered smile ghosted across his lips, as if she had lifted some unbearable weight from his chest.

William watched with uneasy fascination.

"Every damn time she does that," he muttered, "I get goosebumps."

Letecia kept whispering, voice low and steady. Her magic seeped quietly into the man's mind, stirring something deep within. Faint images surfaced—blurred figures, bursts of light, the echo of distant screams.

He groaned suddenly and clutched his head, as if the memories themselves burned.

Letecia leaned in closer, her voice a soft drawl. "That's it, sugar. Let it come. Tell me what you see…"

"I… I see…" The man's voice trembled like a blade caught in the wind. His pupils darted wildly, pupils shrinking and expanding, sweat running down his face in erratic streams. "A black tower… huge. People… in white coats. The screaming—God, so many screams." He choked on a sob. "Tools… everything's covered in blood! They—inject me with something—hot, burning—then pills, so many pills! I need them, you hear?! If I don't take them—they'll come back for me!"

He jerked his head violently, like trying to shake the visions loose, spittle flying from his lips.

William took a step back, expression blanching.

"A tower?" he muttered before forcing a nervous smile. "He's hallucinating. We're in the States, not some Gothic corner of Europe. And it's the damn nineties, not the seventeenth century, for crying out loud."

Milagros shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. Letecia added one of her own—cold, cutting, and far more effective. William got the message fast and shut his mouth.

Letecia turned back to the trembling man, her voice dropping into a velvet whisper.

"It's all right, sugar. Listen to me now, you hear? Just listen. Tell me—who sent y'all here? How many hunters still trailin' Milagros?"

The man's trembling eased. His breaths evened out, though tears still traced lines along his dirt-streaked cheeks.

"My… my boss," he rasped, barely moving his lips. "He sent me. There were four others with me… but two… two got killed by some guy… eyes like a cat's." His gaze flicked to William. "It was him. I'm sure of it."

William's mouth twisted into a crooked grin. He shared a brief glance with Milagros—a silent understanding passing between them.

"So," Milagros drawled thoughtfully, tracing a finger along her chin, "five total. Two dead. Leaves three of you alive. Good."

"Mhmm," Letecia purred approvingly. She nodded slowly. "You did fine, sugar. You did real good. Ain't nothin' else for you to be scared of now. It's all behind you."

But fear wasn't leaving him. If anything, it grew sharper, pulsing from somewhere deep inside. The muscles along his arms began to twitch, his neck tightening until the veins stood out like ropes. Blood welled between his clenched teeth.

"Whoa," William hissed, stepping back again. "Guess there's still some of the beast left in him. Takes grit to fight off her charm."

"William," Letecia hissed in a tone that carried all the softness of broken glass, "close your damn mouth."

She leaned closer, voice reverting to that low, honeyed hum designed to smooth jagged edges.

"Please, sugar, listen t'me. You ain't our enemy, not really. We don't mean you harm. Just tell me—those two left, can you remember their names? And yours, darlin', so I know who I'm talkin' to."

"I… mustn't…" he croaked, rolling his eyes back. "No! I can't!" His voice fractured with pain. "If I speak… if I tell you… they'll punish me!"

His whole body convulsed. The tendons in his neck went taut; his skin turned the color of cold ash. Letecia pressed both palms to his temples, her magic pulsing warm and electric. The air around them shimmered faintly, humming with quiet tension.

"Nobody's comin' for you, cher," she whispered, each word laced with power and promise. "Ain't no evil here but memory. You can tell me them names. Say it, and it'll be over."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Only the rasp of his labored breathing broke the silence. Then—a sound, half sigh, half moan—escaped him. His voice came hoarse, as fragile as cracking glass.

"My name's Thomas… and theirs…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Tuthwat. A witch. And no… I won't say the second. My name and hers are enough. They know already. They always know."

He bit his lip to stifle a scream; blood slid down his chin. Then came a short, deranged laugh—thin and sharp as wire.

"Tuthwat?" William echoed incredulously. "What the hell kinda name is that? Sounds like a curse word."

This time, Letecia didn't correct him. She rose smoothly, brushing auburn strands away from her face with a measured sigh.

"She's a witch, sounds like," Letecia murmured, her drawl thickening slightly, "one o' them mind-hound types. Trackin' every move you make, Milá. Psychic leech, most likely."

Milagros straightened, steel threading her voice.

"Then we finish it. Kill the two that are left, and maybe—just maybe—the rest of their pack will finally back off."

"Sure," William muttered, rubbing his neck. "Just one tiny problem—where the hell do we find them?"

He looked at the wreck of a man slumped in front of them—Thomas, or whatever was left of him. His chest barely moved. His lips trembled faintly, a ghost of life hanging by a thread.

"You could still ask him," William suggested reluctantly.

Letecia frowned, shaking her head gently.

"No, baby. Not him. He's too far gone." She laid a hand over his chest, feeling the faint, erratic flutter of his heartbeat. "His mind's all splintered up. If I push again, I'll break what's left."

She withdrew her hand. Thomas whimpered softly, shuddered once—and went still. His breathing was shallow but steady. For now, at least, he was alive.

Milagros crouched beside the man again, jaw tightening. The faint shimmer of Letecia's magic still hovered around him—soft silver threads slowly fading to dust. For a heartbeat, there was quiet: the kind that carries the illusion of calm before it strikes.

Then Milagros exhaled, long and slow, her eyes hard as flint.

"I've had enough of this," she said. "If your pretty whispers won't get answers, I'll dig them out myself."

"Milá, don't—" Letecia began, voice low and warning, but Milagros was already moving.

She seized the man's chin, forcing his face upward, her thumb pressing deep into the soft flesh of his throat.

"Listen to me, Thomas." Her voice was a whisper sharpened to a blade's edge. "You'll tell me where your witch is. You hear me? You'll remember."

For a moment, nothing happened. Then Thomas's head jerked violently, his eyes rolling back until only the whites showed. A guttural noise scraped out of his chest—something human in tone, but not in depth.

"Milá!" Letecia's warning snapped through the night like a whip. "Stop it, sugar, whatever you're doin', it ain't—"

The rest of the sentence drowned beneath the man's scream.

It wasn't just terror; it was the sound of bones re-shaping. Muscles erupted in spasms, skin rippling as if something underneath was pressing to get out. Dark veins crawled up his neck, bursting into strange black marks that pulsed like living ink.

Then—his teeth split and grew. His fingers tore at the dirt, twisting and elongating, nails becoming hooked talons. His flesh flickered between human and something foul—something he'd once been before the spell wore down.

"Back!" Milagros hissed, stumbling backward, finally letting go of his jaw.

Letecia pulled at her power instinctively, silver light flaring bright around her hands as she stepped between them. "Thomas! Darlin', fight it—don't you let that thing have you!"

For half a breath, it looked like she'd reached him. His twitching paused, eyes focusing weakly on her face. Then his muscles seized again, and with inhuman speed, he launched forward.

Letecia barely had time to raise an arm. The half-formed creature barreled into her, claws raking across her sleeve, teeth snapping inches from her throat. She hit the ground with a cry, her magic sputtering as she tried to push him back.

That's when William moved.

In a blur, he crossed the distance between them. His irises burned gold, slitted like the eyes Thomas had sworn to remember. His claws—sleek, black, curved like razors—sang through the air.

A single sound followed: a clean shhkt!—almost delicate.

Then silence.

Thomas froze mid-lunge. Confusion flashed across the creature's mangled features before his head slid free from his body, hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. The rest of him collapsed a beat later, lifeless.

William stood over the corpse, chest heaving, eyes still feral-bright. The metallic scent of blood thickened the air.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.