Chapter Text
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Startling awake from the sudden sleep that had overtaken him, Mob propped himself up on his elbows: his head was splitting to such a degree that colorful spots danced before his eyes. Trying to ease the sharp pain, he massaged his temples. A couple of minutes later, the manipulation worked—the pain receded somewhat. His vision returned as well; his eyes flew open in surprise, darted around the room, and dropped downward, noticing the couch on which he was lying.
The sparse apartment was nearly bare of furniture: only the couch, a nightstand beside it, and on the right side, a small book table with small couches flanking it. On one of these sat the sleeping Verity.
Wincing, Mob rose as quietly as he could—the bedsprings let out a treacherous creak. Freezing, he listened. Verity did not wake. Exhaling in relief, the boy peered through the doorway beside the nightstand. It seemed to be an entryway: a pair of wardrobes and the front door.
Slowly, constantly glancing back, the boy crept to the door, placed his sweat-slicked palm on the handle, and tried to open it. The path to escape was clearly blocked: the door was locked from the inside with a key.
The first option was discarded until the key was found. Searching the wardrobes turned up nothing; all that remained was to return to the room and check there.
During the search, another idea came to him: at the end of the small bedroom, in the middle, stood a curtained window. "What if I try to get out through it?"—flashed through his mind.
From the small corridor, Mob retreated back into the room. Hurrying, so as not to wake the apartment's owner, the boy abruptly yanked the curtains aside. Through the glass, a view opened onto a strange world, as if stripped of nearly all color: no lights shone in any of the buildings, and they all appeared prehistoric, half-ruined, as though uninhabited.
The gray sky only faintly tinged with blue, darkening with each passing second, made it clear that night was falling. Frozen in even greater bewilderment, Mob saw a flashlight flickering in the darkness of the street, moving into the distance. Since this was only the second floor, he could jump down and immediately call for help.
In hope, he yanked the latch toward himself, literally praying it would open. The window opened with a slight creak—a cool stream of air blew into the boy's face, tousling his hair.
His weary body feeling a chill, he reflexively broke out in goosebumps: the clothes he had been wearing earlier had been replaced by others. A light T-shirt and shorts did nothing to protect him from the cold.
The little light of hope kept moving farther away, until it had completely left his field of vision.
Mob turned around as if in farewell: Verity was still sitting in the same chair—so all was well. Impatiently, he turned his head back toward the window.
A terrible, horrifying face with huge sunken eyes, absurdly thin and disproportionate "features" stared back at him. A vast, toothless maw stretched into something resembling a smile.
Without even realizing it, Mob screamed in terror. In one thin, branch-like hand, the monster raised a lantern, and with the other, it reached for the unmarked human.
Instinctively stepping back, the boy's knees buckled beneath him. Crashing down and striking the dusty wooden floorboards painfully, he dared not look away.
At that moment, footsteps sounded behind him. A familiar silhouette stepped forward, shielding him, and lunged, throwing something into the creature's eyes, making it squeeze them shut. A disappointed groan rang out, and it withdrew.
Verity locked the window back in one motion. Turning, he saw Mob sitting on the floor, mouth agape, breathing rapid and ragged with panic, his wild gaze fixed on him.
"I hope you now understand that doing something like that again is not advisable."
Stepping away from the glass, Verity pointed to a throng of hideous creatures that had gathered and pressed themselves right up against the window.
"What the fuck are those?" Mob shouted, on the verge of hysteria.
"Lesser vermin. In essence, they have no reason—only animal instincts drive them. You're lucky you encountered them; there are also intelligent monstrosities. And there are people who have turned into 'this.' So think about what you're doing."
Rising slowly, the boy tried to find at least one sensible word amidst this "delirium." Emerging from his state of shock, he asked the main question.
"Where the hell have you dragged me?" Mob asked, holding eye contact and trying to stand. His legs had gone numb from the awkward position. Standing up with difficulty, he was practically trembling with fear.
"For humans, this could be called the otherworld, or Hell, if you're here as a human. And for, figuratively speaking, the 'sinful,' it's paradise with complete freedom of action."
Having finished, Verity strode toward the wardrobe. From the rough handling, the wooden door threatened to finally break off, but no one paid any attention to this warning. From it, the blond retrieved a hoodie and pants that had already become familiar.
Moving to Mob, who stood like a pillar in the middle of the room, Verity shoved the clothes into his hands with a slender wrist. Glancing down at the contents of his palms, Mob shot a prickly glare at the eyes opposite, which always seemed to hold a glint of amusement.
"You have an expression on your face as if I were the one who just tried to eat you."
Mob remained silent, processing what he'd heard.
"What do you mean, eat?"
A mute silence fell, oppressive in its aura. Verity's lips opened and closed, trying to explain as thoroughly as possible.
"Literally. All the unclean things here feed exclusively on people. You could, of course, declare a hunger strike, but then you'd lose your mind and abilities and eventually become just like those you saw in the window."
"Get ready, we need to mark you in time." Anticipating subsequent questions, Verity immediately explained.
"In this world, as you've already understood, humans are either food or pets. There are practices for registering people as pets, which lets others know you're under protection—at least of a 'master,' and at most of an institution that placed the mark. In that case, a person receives protection and immunity. Exactly what you need. Unless, of course, you want to end up in someone's stomach."
"Why should I agree to become... I don't even have words, you're literally trying to strip me of any rights," Mob replied with disgust and a nervous laugh.
"Unlike others, I'm not going to brainwash you, though every surviving human here goes through that. I just want to protect you."
"If I resist again, will you do what you want by force?" Verity gave a barely perceptible, clearly displeased nod.
"Hurry up, midnight is soon—the time when the most powerful creatures come out."
Not arguing, Mob stepped over to the wall.
The scrutinizing gaze of grayish eyes burned into his back. Pulling the light T-shirt over his head, he put on its replacement. The same happened with the shorts.
Having finished, the boy turned back, silently indicating his readiness. Showing no reaction, Verity moved closer.
Without thinking, Mob recoiled, and the hand that had started toward him froze and clenched into a fist, but then resumed its motion and pulled him closer.
Almost flush against him, Verity pressed the body opposite back against himself—being slightly taller, he nearly buried his nose in Mob's crown. But he restrained the gesture, feeling Mob's tension.
Snapping his fingers again, Verity transported them to the appointed place.
From the outside, the establishment looked like an ordinary clinic: white walls, turquoise benches near the offices arranged in a neat row, a calm atmosphere, and barely audible whispers.
Mob stared in astonishment as his wrist was pulled forward. Given what he had seen earlier, this place seemed like something impossible.
Walking a little further, they both stopped at an information desk. Oddly, every sign had strange, incomprehensible text on it.
Sensing visitors, an unknown girl in a white coat, matching the interior, emerged from the nearest office. She could have been mistaken for a human if one didn't look closely. But her eyes, when blinking, periodically changed to black-and-yellow dots.
"As I understand, you're here for registration. What additional services are needed?"
The girl behind the counter shifted her dot-like eyes from the human to the demon.
Verity, as promised, chose only one. Slightly raising a thin eyebrow in surprise, she recorded the data and silently extended her hand.
Her limb was covered in strange red swellings. They moved on their own, causing an unidentifiable pus to ooze out.
The prospective client, evidently informed, pulled the previously stolen passport from the pocket of his black trousers and handed it over.
It would have been more logical to look at the information about the document's owner, but with a thin claw, the girl burned the paper in an instant with a sallow flame that appeared from nowhere.
Still without breaking the silence, she pointed to a door at the end of the corridor. The sound of the occasionally flickering lamps was unnerving, and the bare walls felt oppressive, frightening one with the thought of being trapped there forever.
Mob was still thinking about how to save his own skin, but considering Verity's words, it was simply impossible, and his current situation was even fortunate.
Led forward, the boy wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, so he didn't notice how they changed to a room with a fork on either side.
From the left turn appeared another, seemingly human, man—apparently a doctor—who stepped closer.
"The procedure won't take long; you'll only have to wait about fifteen minutes, during which your human will be marked."
At the last words, the doctor turned to Mob with a certain contempt. Grabbing the boy like a kitten by the scruff of the neck, he dragged him along. Not expecting this, Mob nearly turned back, catching a glimpse of Verity remaining in place, but his attempt was cut short by a grip on his wrist that tightened to the point of pain.
The next place was a spacious room with a couple of iron cages and fixtures for something like leashes. In some cages, people of an unhinged appearance sat locked up: mostly beaten, reaching their hands through the gaps in the bars. Incoherent sounds filled the entire room.
Meanwhile, the attendant had managed to put a red collar on the boy and a leash, which he was already securing to the wall. By human standards, this was utterly abnormal.
And what people had become here was even less frightening than the way they were turned into a mere shell of will. Their meaningless gazes stared into nothing. The particularly violent ones yanked at their cages. Some had drool running from their open mouths, while others sat completely still, as if dead.
The man meanwhile stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind him. But before he could leave, hurried footsteps rang out, and both monsters found themselves in front of the closed room.
The newcomer spoke first.
"They urgently need a specimen that hasn't undergone training and is completely healthy. But given our clients... they maim every last one, and that's if we ignore the fact that we don't have such test subjects."
"We either need to catch someone as quickly as possible, which is unlikely to succeed, or..."—the unknown figure didn't finish, as the first man interrupted him.
"Fortunately for you, a surprisingly intact human just came in, also without any procedures. Prepare the equipment and get to work on the order."
After this brief exchange, both went off about their business. A half-moan from one of the subhumans snapped him out of his thoughts again.
"Fuck," Mob cursed, realizing that even here the unclean things had decided to do something to him. He'd rather have been devoured outright, but they were talking about some kind of order and experiments. At the very least, the latter no longer inspired positive feelings.
Another escape plan was forming in his head. Adrenaline coursed through his already tense body, which had been strained for days. Everything was worsened by the premonition of imminent death, if not of his body, then of his very self.
He was undoubtedly lucky not to be locked in a cage or something worse, but the collar was still around his neck.
Surveying the room once more, he approached a large iron table: besides some incomprehensible papers, a drawer of collars, leashes, and a taser, there lay a tiny pocketknife.
Grabbing that, the boy, with all the strength left in his arms after a couple of days without normal life, food, or sleep, sawed more than cut at the medium-thick rope.
A smaller part of the fibers frayed and bristled out. Too much time, Mob thought, had been wasted on this.
Behind the door, noise and movement were heard again. His heart nearly leaped out of his chest, and cold sweat almost dripped and shattered on the smooth tiles.
Finally, the rope loosened and separated from its continuation, though the collar, rattling occasionally, didn't disappear. Having more freedom now, Mob sprang back to the table, grabbed the taser in an instant, and then froze to the right of the door, pressing his back against the white plaster.
But the footsteps passed by the office.
A noisy exhale left his lungs, and Mob's body began to shake. His nerves were like taut strings, beating frantically in agony. They drove him to the brink of a breakdown and a desire to simply give up, because everywhere there were vile creatures wanting only to harm.
A completely unfamiliar space, streets, and wild fear. Everything doubled before his eyes; he was suffocating. To steady himself somehow, his sweat-slicked hand shot to the wall.
Leaning on it, Mob lifted his head to the ceiling again; the bright lamp immediately blinded him. A deep breath in, then out.
Complete silence in his head, only his heart beating a frantic rhythm.
It helped.
Carefully poking his head out the doorway, he looked around. They had brought Mob here from what was now his right side. If he wanted to escape, the only way was to find Verity.
He clenched the taser in his hand, which gave him a false sense of confidence. So no one would hear him, he had to move slowly, often pausing for long stretches, listening to any barely audible rustle.
When the exit was very close, someone behind him moved forward rather loudly.
Trapped in the middle of an empty corridor, Mob bolted into the first room he came to, ignoring what was inside, and locked the door, pressing his own weight against it.
Once again, the boy found himself on the brink of death. Something in the corner of the room twitched.
Mob was stunned. In the room sat a being, somewhat similar to a human in body, but its skin was bright red.
Massive, yet with a protruding spine, the creature sat facing the wall, chewing something with a disgusting smack.
Groping, Mob tried to open the door, but behind him footsteps could be heard again. Not only Mob heard them.
The huge red "thing" with empty black eye sockets turned right toward him. The object in the monster's hands flew aside.
It was a bone: human, gnawed, with chips from the force of the jaws that had crushed it.
It abandoned its meal and rose with deliberate slowness. "Better to be caught by the staff than devoured alive," Mob decided, but a heavy, enormous palm, compared to him, crushed his shoulder with a crack of bones.
The hand holding the taser dropped the only weapon.
The bloodthirsty being opened its maw, bottomless as an abyss, and the next moment, its entire jaw sank into his neck. Unbearable pain pierced his entire upper body: it was devouring Mob alive.
Skin and flesh, with a gushing stream of blood, flooded the floor; part of the neck connecting head and shoulders tore away, filling the creature's mouth with fresh human blood.
Screaming in agonized desperation, the boy tried to tear the thing off himself, but it was like a stone statue, unyielding.
His neck cramped, cold and heat instantly alternated, his voice grew hoarse. On the verge of losing consciousness, Mob made a last attempt with what still worked: his right hand reached for the fallen taser, while the teeth resumed grinding his flesh.
Barely seeing, Mob grabbed the object with his fingers and pulled it toward himself.
Readjusting his grip more comfortably, Mob turned on the weapon and swung it into the monster's neck. Once wasn't enough—he had to keep striking until the limbs holding his body weakened.
Obviously, that wouldn't kill the unclean thing, and if it was a Demon, the time he'd bought was just a few seconds.
Bleeding out, Mob could no longer distinguish anything. Clutching the torn wound, he moved by memory, stumbling and nearly falling with each step, toward the hall.
The floor behind him was covered in a red trail of fluid.
Instead of the hall, he ended up in another white room—his strength finally left him completely.
Sensing his imminent death, with his last breath, Mob leaned against the wall and slumped down. A red smear followed him down the wall.
His vision faded; his hearing gradually failed; his brain sent its last signals. Consciousness began to abandon him, and somewhere deep within, a strange feeling emerged: he remembered Verity, but the animosity toward him was gone; emotions had been pushed aside. Only hatred remained, seizing the human's free will and erasing his former identity.
The body, regaining control, suddenly snapped its eyelids open; eyes of an acid-green shade narrowed like a cat's.
The flowing blood stopped, and over the spot where the flesh had been bitten away, skin began to pull together, forming a gray scar.
The newly reanimated body was shot through with an electric impulse; the brain resumed its function.
Hearing, sight, smell, and spatial awareness were felt much more acutely.
Now Mob could easily sense where Verity was; his aura felt different. Whether because of the time spent together or because of the difference in his origin.
The body, which had begun to regenerate but was still unable to use its newly acquired abilities, yielded to the owner's control.
Mob felt a powerful surge of strength and, stretching his limbs as if waking from a long sleep, stepped into the corridor.
Several doctors tried to stop him, but they were immediately sent flying against the wall by a blow from the boy's hand.
Verity, however, suspecting something amiss, caught the scent of familiar blood and the approach of something familiar yet new, and stepped uncertainly forward.
The human—or rather, the entity that had only recently been human—stood opposite. Narrow feline pupils blinked, constantly changing size.
His clothes, covered from head to toe in blood, were completely ruined.
Mob, who had become a demon himself, was torn by mixed feelings—nothing could be singled out. But he knew for sure that the will to survive was stronger.
And now they were together forever, in the form of terrible creatures.
Mob confidently walked toward Verity. His fingers, now as cold, touched the blond's cheek.
Rising slightly onto his tiptoes, the boy pressed his lips to the lips opposite—barely warm breath scorched his skin.
Verity returned the kiss, pulling his reason for living closer to himself. Both beings, having lost their humanity, reached for each other and touched, trying to feel as much of each other's presence as possible.
The heated atmosphere intensified. Snapping his sweat-damp fingers hastily, Verity transported them back to the apartment.
Impatiently continuing the kiss, Mob himself led the blond forward. The boy fell back onto the unsuspecting bed behind him, pulling Verity by his yellow tie.
The soiled clothes flew in the opposite direction with a sharp tug—almost to the end of the room.
Hot kisses scattered across the body below. Low, quiet sighs escaped from the body that felt desire for the first time.
The air temperature also rose noticeably; pale skin reddened with arousal.
Mob reached his weakening fingers to the tie around Verity's neck. Discarding it, the boy quickly unbuttoned the shirt, already as soaked as they were.
Both demons were completely naked.
Continuing to kiss the body beneath him, Verity moistened his slender fingers, hastily preparing the boy.
At some point, the pads of his fingers struck a hidden spot, making Mob's back arch in ecstasy: it was the first time he had truly felt approaching pleasure.
Noticing his lover's rolled-back eyes, Verity continued to press that spot, bringing the boy to his first orgasm.
A
ragged moan escaped Mob's bitten lips. Barely catching his breath, he was again at the peak of that blissful sensation. Verity, himself barely holding back and moving unevenly, entered.
Mob reached forward, touching Verity's soft lips again. Lying on his back, he received maximum ecstasy.
The blond continued to caress the beautiful body beneath him, which seemed to rejoice in the pleasure. Mob's eyes looked straight at him. At last, he belonged to him in soul and body.
Reaching climax, the final strong thrusts pushed forward.
It was truly a hellish union, inaccessible to ordinary mortals.
The boy's arms wrapped around the slender back below, pulling him closer. Their breathing gradually steadied. All that remained were their still-heated bodies.
Rising up, Verity supported himself on his hands, looming over Mob. The second had fully grasped his situation and that the chance to escape had long since vanished.
His hand touched the blond's soft cheek. An endless eternity awaited them together.
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After Mob's death, considerable time had passed: in the human world, nearly a year had gone by since then, but as Twixel knew, that was not the case.
Not believing the police version, Twixel began his own investigation. The last thing he remembered was the appearance of an unknown young man who introduced himself as a deliveryman, which he was not.
He spent all his time in sleepless nights, even stopped going outside, constantly sitting before his monitor screen, searching for every possible piece of information.
Often with him was the man who had saved Twixel from death.
T
he unknown man in a black hood remained silent, never revealing his presence. Twixel only noticed him when the man himself wanted to be seen.
Occasionally, this man even helped him, giving hints and pointing out what was best to look at. Thus, a key factor became a video uploaded online on the exact date of Mob's disappearance.
In the video, some streamer was testing a local legend about a certain demon of joy who appeared at night to helpless victims.
At first, what happened in the recording seemed like a setup, but when the very man who had appeared at Twixel's apartment came into the frame, that thought was dismissed.
An incredible and inexplicable scene of that man transforming into a monster utterly unreal for this world was truly driving him insane.
Later, it turned out that the demon of joy was Verity—the same helper from their co-op game.
Using the only way to check if he himself had finally gone mad from the loss of his friend, Twixel returned to that world where it all began.
The mod installed back then had disappeared. But people on forums talked about various ways to summon this demon. They said he would answer all questions, but the price would be commensurate.
There was nothing left but to find someone for a sacrifice.
Surprisingly, the hooded man helped him in such a dirty deed.
A drunken man with a cracked skull sat on the floor with his hands tied. The ritual was beginning; the sacrifice was ready, and that world was open. On the color screen, two figures suddenly appeared.
The demon, already familiar from the video and descriptions, and someone who remained vaguely in the far corners of memory. The demon who appeared in the game stared at the summoning human.
Swallowing, Twixel asked what he had been waiting for all this time.
"Where is Mob? I know you're involved in this."
Without answering, the demon stretched his thin lips into a smirk and pointed to the one standing beside him. Twixel knew that face; it hadn't changed at all. Only the clothing and the gaze had changed within him.
The computer screen went dark, and when he tried to turn the game back on, it gave an error.
Since then, besides the demon, people began to mention an unknown young man standing beside him. And those who made deals with them disappeared without a trace. And the two otherworldly entities were inseparable.