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The Cosmic Being floated through the back alleys, watching mortals stumble and falter. Drunkards slurred their sorrows into the night. The homeless curled in doorways, clinging to scraps of warmth. Lost souls walked in circles, trapped in the rhythm of survival. For centuries, humanity had remained the same, no matter how many empires rose or cities glittered with lights. Fragile. Foolish. Yet stubborn enough to endure.
Unexpectedly, something broke the monotony. A ripple of energy unlike anything else. Neither chaos nor despair. Something older. Something more alive. A pulsing heartbeat from a single building: the Hotel Baroness.
The Being drew closer to it, their steps silent against the pavement. The closer they came, the stranger the air grew—thick, buzzing, charged with both heat and cold. The doors creaked open, and what they saw inside stilled even their ancient heart.
The lobby was alive with death. Spirits drifted through the halls like guests at a masquerade. Flappers clinked glasses with red-coated soldiers from another age. A mother scolded her son, who in his decades in the afterlife, hadn’t lost his childish sense of mischief. In most places where their spirits linger, the misery of the dead seems trapped in the soil by a heavy blanket of fog. Here, the spirits were laughing, telling stories with happy endings, existing as though the boundary between worlds had never mattered.
“You- you can see them too?”
The question startled them—not because it was loud, but because it was so near. The mortal’s voice was soft, slightly squeaky, and full of cautious wonder.
The Being turned. A young woman stood behind the front desk, her eyes wide and unblinking, staring straight into theirs. Not at their body, but at them.
“In a way, yes,” the Being replied calmly edged with a bit of curiosity.
She gasped, one hand flying to her mouth as though she had spoken out of turn. Her pupils dilated. Her whole life, she had walked among shadows no one else could see—bearing whispers, gazes, the weight of souls—and never once had she met another who understood.
“What is this place?” the Being asked, their gaze sweeping the room again.
“Welcome to the Hotel Baroness,” she answered, folding her hands as though the words themselves needed composure.
“Open to guests from all walks of life.”
The Being’s eyes narrowed skeptically and followed the giggling ephemeral child running by. She hesitated, deciding whether to trust this stranger. Then, with the faintest smile tugging at her lips,
“Oh, I invited them. Most souls are just lost and confused… so I let them stay here, feel alive again.”
The Being tilted their head, studying her. A mortal, offering sanctuary to the dead. Such a fragile creature, daring to cradle something so risky. Something about her defiance—her refusal to turn away sorrow—unnerved them.
“HEY, GET OFF THAT!” She snapped across the lobby, where children were playing on the luggage cart. They scattered back to their parents like ants.
“Someone can get really hurt from those.” The Medium added, running her hand through her hair. The woman straightened out her uniform before turning back to the Being. The Being shot her a look. With both elbows on the counter she asked at last.
“Can I ask for your name?”
The Being froze. Names carried weight. To speak it aloud was to give away a fragment of their essence. To be known was to be vulnerable. Thousands of years of instinct screamed against it.
“No,” they said simply.
Her brows knit together, lips pouting in protest.
“What!?”
The Being’s gaze softened just slightly. A trace of amusement touched their features, though it never quite reached their eyes.
“Names are… dangerous things. Too much power for such a small question.”
Taken aback, she had never met someone who refused their name—not a spirit, not a guest, not a living soul. Yet, frustration at their guarded nature wasn’t what dominated her thoughts. Instead, she felt something else stir: curiosity. The burning desire to know more about this stranger who could see what she saw.
“Okay mysterious person. Well how about this, could you tell me what you’d like to drink?
“Now this I can do.”
For the rest of the night they chatted and, as the night went on, the questions didn’t seem so bad as she became more and more excited: “When could you see them?!” “What were some dangerous encounters?!” and “Do you know anyone else with this gift?!” The inquiries were endless but The Being did not stop them or turn away. The Medium told her tales of establishing the hotel, her friends, her family. Although the Being was teased their way around their answers, they engaged with their banter.
The Being found themself returning every evening. They rationalized that it was a study, an obligation to catalogue this strange sanctuary that should not exist, but they always sat at the same seat, chatting away with the Medium.
She moved through the Baroness like a guardian angel, tending to strangers with a warmth that defied reason. Spirits who once screamed in agony now laughed in her presence, soothed by her voice in addition to the way she treated the dead and the living alike — as if both deserve to belong. She seemed to do it naturally.
Soon, she began to wait for The Being. She polished glasses too long, rearranged bottles that didn’t need arranging, her gaze flicking toward the door again and again until they finally appeared. Each night they seemed to come later than the last, testing her patience.
“You’re late again,” She teased one night, her lips curling into a smile that she tried and failed to hide.
“I always arrive, don’t I?” She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in it. Instead, her laughter spilled softly into the room, warm and unguarded.
The Baroness had begun to twist. Ever since its grand opening, the essence of its ethereal guests had started to warp the halls into something completely different. Guests whispered of rattling windows that shook without wind, of phantom hands brushing their necks in the dark, of voices whispering through the walls. Before long, the shining new hotel was christened with another name — the most haunted place in America.
“I want to show you something,” the Medium said softly, opening a door for the Being as they stepped into yet another hallway.
The Being narrowed their eyes. “What are your intentions?”
Her face flushed scarlet, and she waved her hands frantically. “They’re good! I’m not planning anything horrible, I swear.”
Her hesitation was clear as she pressed a hand to another door, drawing in a breath before swinging it open. The Being knew it led to one of many interchangeable rooms — another suite of faux-gilded furniture and verdigris carpets. Instead, a second hallway stretched before them, identical to the one they were standing in.
“What is this trickery?” the Being asked, scanning both hallways as if comparing illusions.
The Medium only giggled, delighted. “Not a trick. If you let the spiritual energy flow through you, the hotel shows you shortcuts. Look.” She pointed to a bronze placard on the wall.
The Being read it once, frowned, then tried again. They had stepped out on the seventh floor. Moments ago, they had been on the fourth.
“You want to try navigating?” She asked with a playful grin.
For the rest of the day, they wandered from hall to hall, drifting between impossible spaces without touching a stairwell or elevator. At times, the corridors stretched longer than sight should allow, lamps flickering endlessly into the distance. Other times, gravity itself seemed to fray—carts and picture frames levitating gently, as if suspended in water. The air hummed with unseen currents.
The Medium laughed with every twist and turn, her joy brightening the uncanny corridors. “Isn’t this kind of fun?!”
But the Being’s gaze lingered on the walls as they breathed in the charged air. Power like this never remained unnoticed for long.
On a dreary, fog-drenched morning, a man with black braids and skin darkened by the sun entered the lobby.
The Medium met him with her usual grace. “Welcome to the Baroness,” she smiled. “Checking in?”
“I’m not here for services. Your hotel is in danger. Something dark circles us.”
Her heart tightened, but her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Wesley Grey Talon. I am part of the Baxter Society.”
“People say that this place is haunted but The Baxter Society hunts monsters. There are no monsters here!”
“I’m not talking about your loyal customers. I’m talking about something much more dangerous coming right now.” The Medium’s gaze intensified.
“What’s targeting the hotel?”
“We still don’t know. What we do know is that there have been traces of dark magic on the outskirts of your establishment.” The Medium bit down on their nails nervously. If anything happened to her hotel and even the guests, there would be nowhere to go.
“What do I do?”
He handed her a talisman etched with swirling sigils. “It isn’t perfect, but it will help when the time is right. If you need more direct assistance, call the Baxter Society. Tell them Grey Talon sent you.”
After he left, she hung the talisman above the front door. Sighing, she draped a curtain over the thing. Its eerie glow unnerved her.
Later that night, The Being quickly shuffled in and made their way to the counter:
“If you keep the spirits here, you’ll put yourself in danger.”
The Medium hesitantly sipped her coffee as her eyes wandered over the crowded dining hall. The laughter from the living blended seamlessly with whispers of the dead.
“I can’t just abandon them. I want this place to be a sanctuary for everyone,” she murmured. “I never thought I’d have to bleed for it-”
Glass exploded inward. A chair hurled through the window. Guests screamed, spectral and mortal alike. There was a man outside. Or perhaps not. His movements weren’t human — too jerky, too frantic, like a puppet with a child mangling its strings.
The Being sprinted and in a beat, they were outside, slamming the possessed body against the wall. Fingers tightened around the thing’s throat until dark blood welled beneath its skin.
“What are you doing here?” The Being’s voice was low, chilling — the threat more than implied.
The man’s head twitched, lips forming into a grotesque grin. His voice, layered with something not his own, escaped in a rasp:
“What? It’s a buffet! So many souls to devour! And some brat playing God ain’t gonna do nothin but wa--”
The Being cut it off with a jerk, neck snapping like driftwood, the body going limp in their grasp. But that twisted smile remained.
For a moment, the Being’s eyes glowed with faint neon-blue, light leaking into the alleyway shadows. They felt it — the hunger behind the words, the echo of something deeper. The Impa Shilup. Soul-eaters. They weren’t just coming; they were already here, amplifying the darkest malice of man.
The Being’s hand remained tightly wrapped around its shattered neck as the grip hardened.
The Being stood there in the darkened alley, the truth settling heavy upon them. This wasn’t just about her sanctuary anymore. The Baroness had become a beacon — and every hungry thing in the dark would soon come calling.
Soon after, the Medium dialed the number Grey Talon had given her. The Baxter Society was there within the hour, moving through the Baroness with quiet precision. Guests whispered uneasily as chants echoed through the halls.
They blessed rooms with sacred oils, tucked talismans into hidden corners, and saturated the air with sage smoke so thick it blurred the line between mortal and spirit.
The Cosmic Being, curious at first, drifted into their midst, watching as mortals performed warding rites against powers they barely understood. Their eyes lingered on runes glowing faintly against the walls — fragile lights that would be snuffed out in the coming storm.
“These charms won’t stop an army of soul eaters,” the Being murmured from Talon’s shadow.
The hunter didn’t flinch. He continued knotting string through a bundle of juniper branches, hands steady.
“They’ll buy us time.”
“And when that time runs out?” The Being’s voice cut sharply.
Talon finally looked up, meeting their eyes with a steady gaze.
“Then the Baroness falls. Unless you help.”
“I am but a bystander,” the Being replied smoothly, though the words felt thinner than usual, hollow against the weight of what stirred in the dark.
Talon studied him in silence, then shook his head.
“No. You’re something more. I can tell you aren’t from New York.” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “Things like you don’t stay in New York for this long.”
The Being tilted his head, and for the first time since arriving, smiled. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t cruel. It was the kind of smile that made even a seasoned hunter like Talon feel the back of his neck prickle.
Still, Talon didn’t back down. He set the juniper aside and straightened, bow slung across his shoulder.
“Help me banish them,” he said, unflinching.
The Being and Talon stood guard in the lobby, silence hanging thick between them. The clock ticked like a heartbeat, steady, merciless, past two. The Being tapped their foot against the tiled floor, each strike sharper, quicker.
“She’ll be safe,” Talon murmured, though his voice carried less conviction than he intended. The 13th floor was layered with seals and charms, every trick the Baxter Society could conjure, but the Being knew better. Nothing was absolute. Especially what stalked the Baroness tonight.
The Being gazed at the clumsy thing in their hand. A revolver. A mortal’s weapon. Brittle steel, unbalanced, and garishly loud. It was an insult to wield something so beneath them. Once, they would have tossed it aside, sneering at the thought of lowering themselves to human tools.
And yet… their grip tightened. The pistol no longer felt insignificant. It felt necessary. If this weapon — no matter how crude — could save her, then they wouldn’t stop shooting until they were holding a pile of molten slag.
They smirked faintly, bitterly. A God reduced to steel and bullets, standing watch like a common soldier. The thought should have disgusted them….
Instead, for the first time in eternity, they weren’t fighting for dominion or glory.
A shriek to match the whistling sigils pierced the Baroness from the outside. The front doors, freshly carved top to bottom with warding rites and blessings, began to smoke from the intensity. Bestial howling swelled in ungodly chorus, tempo marked with scratches and slams against the best barrier human money could buy.
“Get ready,” Talon says, hoisting up his bow.
The front doors and talismans exploded in ivory fire. Impa Shilup, their forms a blur of teeth and claws, threw themselves toward their next meal, trailing droplets of venomous hunger.
The revolver locked onto the closest assailant. Cracking like thunder, the first silver bullet tore straight into its skull.
Another Impa vaulted over its fallen kin, unhinged jaws flailing in a hellish fury. Talon’s arrow sang through the air, embedding deep into its throat. It gargled, thrashing before collapsing into mist.
“Watch yourself!” Talon barked as he sidestepped, loosing another arrow into the chest of a charging beast.
The Being moved with supernatural poise, each shot precise to the point of elegance. A bullet through the eye. Another splitting a claw mid-swipe. Yet for every monster that fell, two more swarmed in, their shadows writhing across the walls in a living tide.
One Impa leapt onto Talon’s back, claiming its prize with piercing fangs. With a grunt, the Being slammed it against a pillar, stone cracking from the force. Its body melted away, leaving Talon with stinging wounds in his neck.
Talon hissed a curse in his native tongue. He released three glowing arrows in rapid succession, juniper bowstring humming in the rhythm. The shots struck true, pinning an Impa’s limbs to carpet before the final pierced its heart.
But the defenders were starting to slow. The air in the lobby had thickened with smoke and the stench of rot. The shrieks came in waves now, each louder than the last, until the very walls of the Baroness trembled.
The Being reloaded, sweat beading on their brow.
“They just keep coming!”
“Hold!” Talon snarled, nocking another arrow into the encroaching swarm. Shot after shot, found their marks, but they wouldn’t be enough to break the mass of bodies aiming to tear him apart.
The Being’s gaze snapped to the luggage cart. With a snarl, they shoved it forward with impossible force. The heavy brass frame tore across the lobby like a battering ram, scattering half the swarm into walls and pillars. The floor trembled with the impact.
“Move!” the Being shouted.
Talon hadn’t wasted a breath, dodging out of the way. The luggage cart striking out the mob of Impa. His bow thrummed, every arrow puncturing heads and hearts with brutal precision until the last of the Impa dropped, ichor pooling at his boots.
He lowered his weapon, chest heaving. “Thanks,” he rasped, sweat plastering his braids to his necktemples.
Unbeknownst to The Being, an Impa leapt from the ceiling.
Then — impact. The rogue Impa slammed The Being against the counter, claws tearing deep as their revolver clattered to the ground. Rows of gnarly, black Its teeth gnashed inches from their face. Their hand scrambled for anything — and found the lobby’s call bell. Without hesitation, they smashed it against the Impa’s skull. The bell now misshapen embedded metal shards into its flesh as the spirit howled. The Being shoved it away, black mist searing their skin as the husk dissolved.
The Being retrieved their revolver from the floor.
Finally — silence.
“I think it’s over.” Grey Talon muttered, listening intensely. The Being joined and observed the battered lobby.
The lobby floor was slick with steaming ichor, smoke curling up from torn rugs and shattered furniture. Both stood heaving, shoulders taut, listening for the next wave that did not come.
“Now you have time to check up on your lady.”
“She’s not my lady.”
”Unusual, coming from someone like-” A shock went through their spine as the elevator door slammed shut, rising fast.
On instinct, The Being tore through the hallway doors as they ascended floor by floor remembering the Baroness’ supernatural shortcuts.
“Please… please let me make it on time.” The words slipped out like a prayer, jagged with panic.
If their past self mere weeks ago could see this now, they would recoil in disgust. Mortals were meant to be ruled, broken, cast aside like ash in the wind. That was the way of things. That was balance.
And yet— she was different.
Her laugh, her stubborn kindness, her way of treating even the lost dead as if they mattered—these had unmade them more thoroughly than any blade ever could. She had disarmed them without trying, without knowing, simply by being herself.
The Being realized that they could not bear the thought of a world without her in it. This fragile, stubborn, exceptional mortal. This woman who had looked them in the eye and smiled as if they were just another tired soul who needed a drink.
They weren’t running through these cursed halls out of duty. Not out of curiosity. Not even out of pride. They mutter her name over and over again, twisting and barging through the doors.
They entered the 13th floor and the hall began to twist and warp around them.
Pushing the door open they aim their gun towards the lunging spirit. Closing one eye and taking a breath, they aimed. The sound of a flying bullet pierced through skin. Something collapses to the floor. And before they knew it, all they felt was the tight warm embrace, revolver clattering to the floor.
She fell into the Being’s arms, breathless, laughing at how close death had come. Sweat covered her face as she dug into their chest.
“Late. as. always,” she smirked, gazing up at them. The Being looked at their target of the last Impa with a clean bullet hole through the center of their forehead. They took a big sigh of relief and closed their eyes. With their free hand they held the Medium’s head close to them.
“I always arrive, don’t I?” They whispered back, their lips inches apart. For one aching moment, the world stilled in anticipation.
She quickly stood and straightened herself up.
“-I think this calls for champagne… Can you get the bucket?” Brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
They smiled, walking across the room. “You saved champagne?”
“It was either we celebrate… or we would all die.”
Their smile deepened. In the most tense situations, she still can make jokes. But as they reached for the bottle — searing pain tore through them. The Being slowly gazes down to see her arm now glowing with purple runes burst from their chest. Before they could come out of shock, the delicate hand twisted and pulled back into their chest. Gore poured out of them as they scooped up their organs, trying to put everything back inside them.
They turned, eyes wide. Staring back at them, she stood — twisted, possessed, cackling unrecognizably.
“You were sooo close,” the darkness mocked through her lips. “She worried about you constantly, you know. An easy crack to crawl through.”
They fell to their knees defeated, blood dripping from their mouth. They met her eyes and found that she had tears rolling down her cheeks. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered faintly, her true voice breaking through.
The Being screamed and pulled her close. Gathering the last of their power, the two stumbled through the door, banishing them both into another realm.
The spirit howled in the realm of endless halls, its voice breaking and reforming.
“WHERE AM I?!” it screeched, claws raking against the warped wallpaper.
From somewhere beyond the twisting corridors came laughter — ragged, low, yet resolute. The Being’s true voice.
“I really do applaud you for nearly fooling me,” it echoed from every direction, impossible to locate. “But you forget one thing…” The laugh deepened into a growl that made the walls tremble. “…you are playing a mere game with a God.”
The halls warped in answer, lengthening, doors slamming shut as though the hotel itself obeyed the Being’s will. The spirit shrieked and stumbled, disoriented, as thunderous knocking erupted behind the walls. Bang. Bang. Bang. Each strike grew heavier, as though some massive creature were trying to claw its way into the corridor.
Then came the ticking. At first faint, like a pocket watch buried under floorboards, then louder, sharper, cutting through bone and thought alike. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound crawled into the spirit’s skull, drowning every coherent thought. Escape. That was all that remained.
The spirit bolted, its limbs flailing, dragging itself forward through a corridor that stretched and shifted with each step. An elevator appeared at the end — its golden gates gleaming, promising freedom. The spirit screeched in triumph and lunged toward it, fingers reaching for the button.
But the moment its foot touched the door frame, the air turned heavy. A shadow rippled across the carpet, swallowing color, swallowing light. The elevator doors melted into the wall as the blackness surged upward, wrapping around the spirit like liquid tar.
“No—no, NO, NOOO!” it thrashed violently, its screams muffled as the void seeped into its mouth, its eyes, its very essence. The knocking grew deafening, each second dragging the soul deeper into oblivion.
The last thing it heard was the Being’s voice — close now, a whisper against its ear.
“You don’t leave. No one leaves.”
And then the blackness closed completely.
Deeper in the twisted realm, one fragile light pulsed against the dark. The Medium’s soul — trembling, tender, but unbroken — flickered like a candle in a storm. Around her, the ballroom lingered in ruin: marble fractured, chandeliers dimmed, the ceiling torn open to an endless void where stars should have been. Somewhere in the shadows, a gramophone crooned a distant waltz, its melody warped.
The Cosmic Being drifted forward, their presence part shadow, part starlight.
“I’m here, my darling,” they whispered, their voice heavy as eternity. “No one will ever hurt you again.”
Her soul flared, brighter, steadier.
They extended their hand into the glow, and from the fire of her spirit drew her forth — flesh and bone returning, her body clothed in a simple dress, her bare feet resting upon fractured marble as if it were the smoothest floor. The Cosmic Being took on a shadowed body and bowed slightly, then claimed her hand. She knew it was them and grinned. Together, they swayed to the gramophone’s distant song. Her head nestled against their chest, her breaths falling into the rhythm of their steps.
“I… I still never got your name.”
The Being was silent. For ages beyond count, their name had been sealed — too sacred, too perilous, too absolute to be given lightly. To speak it aloud was to bind. To share it was to surrender power, to open their essence to another.
At last, their voice spread through the ruined hall, resonant as thunder, soft as prayer.
“Then I shall tell you… and only you.”
Their true name slipped from their lips, echoing through the void, weaving into her very soul. It was no sound any mortal tongue could carry, but she knew it, felt it, cradled it in her heart as if it had always been hers to keep.
And in that moment, for the first time in eternity, the Being was no longer alone.
She woke days later, memories fractured like glass. Grey Talon was there, calm but firm, assuring her that the Hotel Baroness was now recognized as a sanctuary by the Baxter Society: its halls guarded and name written into their records. She nodded, but the reassurance didn’t ease the ache in her chest — a hollow, unshakable emptiness.
She carried on as always, greeting guests, polishing glasses, humming under her breath in the dining hall. And yet, behind every smile, something lingered. Awaiting. For what, she could not name.
One afternoon, a young man with ginger hair entered in a freshly pressed shirt and suspenders.
“Welcome to the Baroness,” she absentmindedly greeted, her fingers tapping on the counter. “How may I help you today?”
“I was wondering if you had any job positions open.” The Medium squinted her eyes and raised her head in thought.
“Hmmm. We have a doorman position.”
Her fingers froze and looked up at the man, narrowing her eyes. “Do I… know you? I feel like we’ve met.”
He smiled gently. “I’m often mistaken for others. This is our first meeting.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “So when can you start?”
“Anytime, my dear.”
“Welcome to the team.”
Their hands joined together. Warmth bloomed up her arm, spreading into her chest. Tears filled her eyes before she could stop them.
She laughed and quickly wiped her tears away, embarrassed. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I’m sorry.”
He continued to smile; everyday henceforth, watching over her and the Baroness - his eternal post. Polite. Steadfast. Always arriving on time.