It makes me want to throw up. Nausea tightens around my ribs and crushes my chest from the inside. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to push her that far, to threaten her, to insult her, to press a gun to her forehead and reduce her to an anomaly that could simply be erased. And yet I did. I followed the same path that was forced onto me. I became the hand that breaks in order to force an awakening. And that truth remains lodged inside me like something filthy I can’t spit out.

  I shattered her so she would rise. I crushed her so she would shine, and that is exactly what disgusts me. I remember my own awakening. The fall. The void. That moment when the world disappears and the scream stays trapped in your throat because letting it out would have destroyed everything.

  Now I’m the one inflicting that fracture on someone else. The words I used were effective, but they weren’t really mine anymore. They were shaped to wound. A part of me tries to justify it: if I told her she was hideous at the edge of despair, it was to save her. That’s a lie. Why does awakening require trauma? Why isn’t reaching out enough?

  The worst part? It works. She changes. Brutally. Black light bursts around her, the air tightens, and I understand instantly that her Mots has awakened. I blink and she is no longer the same girl. There is nothing fragile left in her gaze. Her voice has changed too.

  “Kill me if you can.”

  Her aura hits me. Her pupils narrow. Her hair takes on a harder sheen. Dark markings spread across her skin and her horn lengthens. Claws shoot toward my throat.

  Claws?

  She’s fast. I shift just in time, breath short, heart lagging behind what my eyes barely registered. The attacks follow one after another, clean and decisive. She gives me no room to breathe. I block a kick with crossed forearms; the impact vibrates through my shoulders. I pivot and throw her to create distance. She lands without losing balance, knees bent, center of gravity low, already ready to move again. Her stance unsettles me. She isn’t looking for prolonged exchanges. She’s looking for an opening.

  She moves again. A forward flip. Her body leaves my line of sight for a split second, and then something coils tightly around my arm.

  A tail. Since when does she have a tail? She uses it as an anchor, pulling herself toward my face. I pull back to break the angle and shift aside, but I’m a fraction too slow. I feel skin split before I feel pain.

  I step back to steady myself. She never attacks the same way twice. She’s unpredictable, fighting purely on instinct. If I stay defensive, she’ll eventually create a crack. She’s more mobile. Lighter. She controls the tempo. My breathing stays steady. My footing holds. My arm isn’t numb despite the twist. The cut is shallow. Nothing serious for now.

  What am I doing? Enough. Continuing like this gains me nothing. I straighten slowly, no sudden movements, and open my hands so she can clearly see I’m not preparing another strike.

  “I surrender. You win.”

  I keep my shoulders low and my gaze steady, but I watch the tension in her forearms. She doesn’t lower her claws. Her eyes stay locked on me. She doesn’t trust me.

  “Are you trying to trick me?”

  Her voice is wary. Expected. I shake my head slowly, no abrupt motion.

  “No. Your Mots has awakened. You’re going to become a soldier… like us.”

  I know saying it that bluntly won’t calm her. It isn’t meant to. Lying would be useless. She’d sense it. I need to stop the fight, not win her affection. Her jaw tightens. Her shoulders rise a fraction.

  “And if I don’t want that?”

  The reaction is predictable. But she has to understand that her fate is already sealed.

  “You don’t get to choose.”

  My voice is steady. My stomach isn’t. The words come without cruelty, but without softness either. I’m already thinking about what comes next. When she meets évra, she’ll understand. When faced with a force that crushes every alternative, the idea of choice dissolves on its own. She frowns.

  “Stop talking like that’s normal!”

  She’s right. Even I barely recognize myself anymore. Her voice rises, trembles, then breaks.

  “I thought I was going to die! Burn! Be executed like an animal!”

  Fear pushes through the anger. My breathing stays controlled, but my chest tightens. I hold her gaze. I’m going to do what I believe is right, even if she rejects it.

  “Sorry.”

  The word is simple. I lower my head slightly.

  “Sorry? After you hurt me?”

  I know it isn’t enough. I’m lost too. Her claw lifts again, the tip aligned perfectly with my throat. I don’t move.

  “Fight me. And if I win, you leave.”

  The words fall and mental exhaustion hits harder than any blow. I’ve said too much. Tried too hard to structure something that refuses to be structured. I glance toward Fortuna and Aris. They don’t move. Not a step forward. They’re watching. Maybe they believe this is mine to resolve. Fortuna’s gaze is clear. Your problem.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I feel trapped by the situation, as if every option leads back to the same outcome: fulfilling the role évra expects of me. I bow fully, head lowered, shoulders relaxed. Maybe if I go far enough, she’ll accept it.

  “I’m sorry. I promise it’s over now.”

  The black flames around her don’t diminish. They thicken, heavier, denser. Her breath grows uneven. Her voice lowers.

  “Over? No. I don’t think so.”

  I glance toward Fortuna again. She looks away. Think. Her awakening was triggered by an insult. If attack awakened her Mots, maybe the opposite can disrupt her state. It isn’t solid strategy. It’s the only option left.

  “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  The silence that follows is heavy. My body betrays me. My hands shake. My legs tremble. I take a step back without meaning to. I recognize the feeling. Old. Dry throat. Racing heart. Muscles ready to flee.

  I’m afraid of dying.

  A vortex of black flames engulfs Nora. Morgus trembles under the impact. Walls creak and vibrate; fragments fall to the ground. Heat surges outward and crashes over me. Breathing grows harder. My eyes sting. The outlines of the street vanish. All I can see is a mass of darkness pulsing steadily, oppressively, like a giant heart beating in open air.

  This is no longer simple anger. It’s transformation. I narrow my eyes to reduce the irritation and force myself to observe instead of react. Then everything stops. The air is still burning. I take a second to analyze.

  Dark armor hugs her shape without exaggerating it. The lines are fluid, almost organic, as if the material grew directly from her skin. Mauve reflections slide beneath the surface, alive, like contained energy circulating within. It isn’t forged protection. It’s an extension.

  Her once dull mauve hair has deepened, darker at the tips, as if burned from within. Her eyes are no longer silver but blood red, carrying a lethal glow. Two matte black horns spiral from either side of her head, perfectly formed.

  She is… a magnificent demon.

  The word forms without visible emotion, but my chest tightens anyway. I keep my back straight. Any sign of retreat would be exploited.

  She lifts her head. Her eyes burn into mine. I hold the gaze.

  “I heard your last words.”

  She vanishes from my sight.

  The impact lands a fraction of a second later. Her fist detonates against my stomach with brutal force. Air leaves my lungs instantly. My diaphragm spasms as if my insides have been compressed to the breaking point.

  My body lifts off the ground and I immediately understand that I have no control over my trajectory. I’m hurled straight ahead. The slums rush toward me too fast to process details.

  The first wall explodes on impact. I don’t feel it give way; I pass through it. The structure was already fragile. It collapses as if it had been waiting for an excuse. Wood, sheet metal, poorly secured concrete. Everything shatters. I tear through one room, then another. Objects burst around me, but I can’t identify anything. No foothold. No real deceleration.

  I pass through a third building. The walls break one after another, incapable of stopping me. Morgus fractures in my wake. Facades explode in muffled crashes swallowed almost immediately by dust.

  Something feels wrong. I’m airborne too long. It’s not vague. I should have hit the ground already. But nothing. It feels like everything is slowing down.

  Debris stops falling. It drifts around me. Dust hangs suspended in the air. My body feels lighter, as if held by invisible resistance. At this point, I let it happen. The explanation might reveal itself.

  Then a softer impact. Brief. Elastic. As if something living cushioned my fall. I don’t have time to identify it. The next instant, gravity reasserts itself. I hit the ground. This time the pain comes without filter. I curl instinctively, hands clutching my abdomen as if I could hold something in place.

  Uncontrolled trembling. Muscles contracting against my will. I can’t draw a full breath. It hurts. Deep, internal pain pulsing with my heartbeat. What was that punch… It felt like being struck by évra.

  I roll onto my side, dust sticking to damp skin, metallic taste filling my mouth. I’m still conscious. I can still act. Just not yet.

  A firm weight pins my head down. A firm weight, deliberate, as if someone has planted their foot there to make sure I don’t rise again. My forehead grinds into the dirt. Dust enters my mouth. I try to lift my neck. I can’t.

  A shadow falls over me. The light disappears. A sigh. A slow, almost tired voice.

  “Seriously… couldn’t you crash somewhere else?”

  A chill runs up my spine. I’ve heard that voice before. Not long ago. But long enough for my body to react before my memory catches up. My heart rate spikes. He’s actually pressing my head into the ground with his foot. The pressure is intentional. I can barely make out his silhouette through dust and blurred vision.

  He removes his foot. His hand grabs my collar and lifts me effortlessly. My feet nearly leave the ground. I can’t properly contract my muscles to resist. Heat surges through me. Sudden. Violent. It grips my throat. Rage. It alters my breathing. Accelerates my pulse. Pushes my shoulders forward.

  I haven’t decided to move yet, but my body already tries. I grit my teeth, tear his hand away in a rough, instinctive motion, and stagger back. My balance falters. My legs nearly give out. I barely remain standing.

  Ka?ro. The one who sold me. My enemy. I press my hand against my chest, forcing my breathing to slow.

  He speaks calmly, almost indifferent.

  “As you can see, my sister is resting. Let’s talk somewhere else.”

  He doesn’t recognize me. There’s no sign in his eyes. To him, I’m not a threat yet. That’s my advantage. I know he’s strong. Behind him, I glimpse a figure lying down, completely wrapped in bandages. More like a mummy than a sister. The contrast is brutal.

  It feels like something has chan—

  A violent blow interrupts me. My cheek explodes from a strike I didn’t even see coming. The world tilts sharply. I’m thrown in the opposite direction without understanding what hit me, without having raised a guard.

  At least this time everything along my path is already destroyed. Only broken shells and suspended dust remain to receive me. It’s frustrating. He’s still far stronger than I am. I feel terribly weak.

  Aris catches me before I hit the ground. My body slackens without permission.

  He doesn’t have that luxury. I feel the immediate twist in his shoulders. He pivots without releasing me, dodging something I can’t even perceive. The air tears inches away from us. He sets me down roughly out of necessity. His back faces me now, already between me and the threat.

  He speaks without turning.

  “Nora is completely losing control.”

  His tone is tense but structured.

  My vision still shakes, but I see her. It’s not just the armor or the horns. It’s her posture. Leaning too far forward. Her eyes no longer lock onto a single target. They sweep, hungry. There’s no grace left in her movement. Only raw tension, ready to explode. She attacks to destroy.

  I need to warn Aris. Ka?ro is here. I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. My throat tightens. Air barely passes. Nora is unstable. Ka?ro is approaching. The danger is coming from every direction. And I’m useless.