Ugo moved through the corridor alongside his tiny companion. As they walked down the red-orange hallway, lighting from the candle sconces grew stronger, but it only made the area even more unsettling as details on the walls and floor became apparent—demonic markings, symbols, and oil portraits of distorted hellish entities stained with black goo.

  Once again, Ugo noticed the sounds of skipped breathing and strings from a broken guitar playing. This time, there was an undertone of murmuring and what sounded like belching mixed with churning bowels.

  Doors and wall clocks began to appear. The clocks were insanely shaped, with devilish symbols replacing the numbers.

  How the hell do you read the time on that? Ugo thought as he looked at a clock with an elongated, twisted shape.

  Naomi tapped Ugo on the shoulder with her finger. “Shouldn’t we use the key to check what’s behind these doors?” She asked in her normal voice.

  And the pair kept it that way.

  Ugo fished the key out of his pocket and backtracked with her to the part of the corridor where doors started to appear. He approached the first one to their left. The key entered the keyhole with no problem and turned just as smoothly, unlocking the door.

  After letting himself in, Ugo wished that he had some of Zeke’s overthinking that held him back from doing things heedlessly.

  It would’ve saved him from the terrible imagery that burned permanently into his brain that was bad at forgetting.

  The room’s occupant was a humanoid creature with three sets of arms that pulled the skin of its torso apart, revealing its dead tissue and misshapen bones.

  Ugo didn’t see a head, face, or anything that suggested it was capable of speaking, but he heard it say in its guttural voice, “Is it mealtime already?”

  He pulled Naomi back and shut the door.

  “So these must be the patient rooms,” Naomi said. “Are you okay, Ugo?”

  Ugo responded by forcing a smile back at her.

  “Do you mind if I…?” Naomi said as she reached out her hand.

  There was no argument. Ugo gave her the key, relieving himself of the duty, and let her nonchalantly check door after door.

  “So, it works for all the doors!” Naomi said.

  Ugo followed her through her search but stayed far away enough to keep himself from feeding more nightmare-inducing imagery into his brain. Something about the real thing was way more unsettling than video games.

  On the other hand, Naomi was checking the rooms like a natural, as if she had been working there for several hundred years, saying: “Excuse me!” before entering a room and: “Sorry” after closing it.

  “Most of them don’t seem to be in any condition to give us proper information,” Naomi said.

  After she checked the twelfth door down the corridor, Ugo asked her: “Does being here make you feel comfortable?”

  Naomi halted for a moment after the question and then walked over to the next door, averting her eyes to the floor. “Is that bad?” she asked in a brittle voice.

  “No!” Ugo said, touching her shoulder and then pulling his hand back with force a second later, enduring the shock he felt in his chest. “I mean… well, it is a part of you.” Ugo wondered if it was right to say that Hell was a part of somebody.

  The comment caused a wan smile to emerge on Naomi’s lips. “It is…” she said in a quiet voice. “Ugo… sometimes, it’s hard to tell which is my home.”

  Ugo looked away as Naomi checked the thirteenth door. He heard garbled words come from the monster on the other side after Naomi said her thirteenth: “Excuse me!”

  “Sorry!” Naomi said and gently closed the door.

  As she moved to the fourteenth door, Ugo made another comment that caused her to halt. “You mean… you don’t know if either Heaven or Hell is your home.”

  Naomi nodded as she brought her hands together. “Sometimes it feels like I am part of neither.”

  Her words made Ugo think about the mixed kids he met in school who felt as if they were stuck between two cultures and simultaneously rejected by both sides.

  “There’s not even a name for what I am,” Naomi said as she looked up at him. “Calling myself an angel is blasphemy, and calling myself a demon is…” Naomi bit her lip and looked at the next patient’s room door, leaving the sentence unfinished.

  “What do you feel more like?”

  “I don’t know…” Naomi pushed the key in.

  Ugo raised a brow. “You don’t know, or the answer scares you?”

  Naomi unlocked the door, and she paused for a while. “I don’t know.” She opened the door quickly, and there was not enough time for Ugo to look away.

  A large moaning figure was seated on the bed. It wore a dirty rag with a cowl over its head.

  Ugo felt the suppressed energy from his Mana’s Garb trying to burst through its constraints. The pulsating inner itch he picked up from the monster was a mix of familiar sensations.

  “Sorry,” Naomi said. “Is there any chance you could tell us where we can find Dr. Rathru?”

  The monster’s moaning became more disturbed as it turned to them. Its entire body was covered in bandages, with only its black right eye exposed, and it had a metal collar around its neck. The size of the thing was even bigger than Ugo thought as it rose to its feet.

  Two arms were on one side of its body, and the other had a straight white wing jutting out the socket. Ugo took notice of the dried blood it was coated in and the teeth-like spikes protruding off random spots on its body.

  Ugo knew that judging a book by its cover was wrong, but in this case, it was necessary. He sensed an incoming attack, and just as he reached for Naomi—she beat him to it by wrapping her arms around him and diving out of the way as the monster bolted past the door.

  It crashed onto a wall with its head.

  A jolting sensation had Ugo place his hand against the side of Naomi’s head and push her off him as quickly as possible to not give his mind any time to lewdly obsess over what parts of her were being pressed onto him. While crouching, he looked over the monster, and it was banging its head against the wall it crashed into.

  The chain that hung from its collar clanked against the floor, and the monster’s moaning intensified, evolving into ghostly weeping.

  On the back of its rags, Ugo could make out something written with black ink: “No. 19”

  “Are you okay, Ugo?” Naomi asked.

  Ugo looked back at her, surprised; she asked such a thing after he violently pushed her. He allowed his face to crumple a bit. “Naomi, sorry for—”

  No. 19 released an ear-piercing scream, bringing their attention back to it. Then, it turned to them and started making hand signs with the pair of arms on one side of its body.

  There was a flash. Immediately after, a weapon was in each of No. 19’s hands. An archaic sword with jagged edges in one hand and a massive, in height and width, rectangular sword in the other.

  The Mana energy Ugo sensed from the monster was undeniably Ashlin’s Garb. Ugo bared his teeth as he got up, scowling at it.

  “It just used magic!” Naomi said as she got up.

  “It’s one of Ashlin’s Containers… and it looks like it wants to fight.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, but I kinda get it,” Ugo said. “If I looked like that, I’d be fighting people randomly, too.” As No. 19 moved up to them, Ugo stretched his hand to the side. “I’ll cut him up good.” Just as he was about to curve his hand, Naomi grabbed his wrist and pulled it down.

  “You can’t use your Garb’s magic, remember?” Naomi said.

  Ugo scoffed. “Oh, crap!”

  Naomi turned on her heel and grabbed onto Ugo’s hand. “We can only run for now!”

  As they sprinted down the corridor, Ugo looked over his shoulder, and No. 19 was no slowpoke despite what its size would suggest.

  The distance between them and No. 19 was shrinking, but Ugo’s mind decided to focus on Naomi’s hand that was wrapped tightly around his. A pang of guilt started in Ugo’s chest even though her demonified skin was cold and rough; he was enjoying holding her hand.

  Enjoying something he didn’t deserve.

  Ugo pulled his hand away from Naomi’s grip. She looked over at him.

  “Ugo?” she asked before a flying, jagged blade cut through her shoulder.

  “Naomi!” Ugo shouted as she crashed to the floor on her stomach. He slid to a halt and ran back to her.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “No, don’t heal me…” Naomi said. “You can’t use White Magic here. I’m fine.”

  Ugo grimaced at her wound and the black ooze leaking off it.

  “Naomi, your blood’s black. How deep of a demonification did you—?”

  Another attention-pulling scream came from No. 19, and it started banging its massive sword against the wall to its side.

  Launching its weapon was the Container’s way of making it clear that it wouldn’t let them run away. It wanted a fight, and Ugo was glad to give it one.

  “Stay down, Naomi,” Ugo said.

  “But, Ugo—”

  “I won’t use my Garb,” Ugo said, searching his pockets as he schemed in his noggin.

  All I have to do is just focus on using Black Magic energy…

  He pulled out a ballpoint pen from his pocket and analyzed it. Ugo was surprised that all the random junk he carried was still there, even after Aida had changed their clothes.

  After learning about Mana Bombs, Ugo pulled a Zeke and had a stint of continuously pondering the many ways to use pure, concentrated Mana energy without it being Tainted with Black Magic or blessed with White Magic. In other words, Gray Magic for offensive means. No spells, just energy.

  So what about using Black or White Magic in its natural form as well? He had seen it, other Tainted enhancing their attacks with magical energy; hell, it was possible he did it a couple times himself without realizing.

  “My Garb is a source of Mana I can pull from to perform spells that are exclusive to it,” Ugo said, “but I still have Mana in me without the Garb, so if I just use the energy as it is, there should be no traces to my Healer’s Garb... does that make sense?”

  “... I think?” Naomi answered.

  Yippee ki-yay.

  Ugo focused on the Mana in the form of Black Magic energy flowing around him and in and out of his soul via his Mana Pores, staying clear of his Garb’s source of power, eager to be let out.

  Ugo emitted the Black Magic unfiltered by his Healer’s Garb’s. The black smoky aura overlaid his frame, and then he focused on the pen as he gripped it like a sword and crouched while holding it up horizontally.

  This should work.

  No. 19 was just inches from Ugo, raising its large sword at the ceiling. It quickly brought it down.

  The sword bounced off the enhanced pen along with its wielder.

  Ugo slowly straightened himself and looked at the Black Magic-coated pen. It was a technique so generic that it didn’t even count as a spell.

  All it took was focusing on what he wanted to do.

  No. 19 made a growl, announcing that it wasn’t staggered anymore, and charged at Ugo. It swung the massive blade at his side, and Ugo blocked it.

  Ugo felt his entire body reverberate but remained firm, unlike his opponent, who spun back in the opposite direction.

  Without his Garb to automatically use White Magic spells to heal himself and regulate his purity levels as he used Black Magic, caution was paramount. He could sense the cool, dark feeling—like sinking in cold sludge—of his soul’s purity plummeting with every second that passed as he emitted Black Magic.

  I can’t keep doing this for too long. Ugo thought and then clicked the pen.

  “Come here!” Ugo shouted at No. 19 as he charged at him and slashed downward at it with the pen’s ballpoint tip.

  As the rags on its face parted, Ugo was stun-locked.

  It was Kian Elbertsson’s face.

  Dabriel’s visit was all Nananiel could think about as he leaned onto a wall of the BurgerQueen, observing his employees cook and handle customers.

  The Archdemons attempting something… no… impossible.

  Nananiel shivered and bit onto a nail as he tried to adjust himself into a more comfortable position on the wall. Does Irin think the same? Are the Archangels not only for the Tainted but a contingency for the Archdemons, too? He contemplated with a back so soaked in sweat that it was like laying on a wet towel.

  Rachel crossed his view, prompting him to focus on her as she zipped around the restaurant, taking orders, helping out workmates at the cashier, and in the kitchen, and then, when no one was waiting in line, she’d strike up conversations with lonely customers, which was completely unheard of in the industry.

  This girl was some kind of fast food messiah.

  Nananiel checked his wristwatch, and it was almost time for the meeting. He returned to the kitchen, found some trash bags, and stepped outside.

  The sun was moments away from ending its shift for the day, leaving twilight to take over the sky—a lovely blend of dark blue and bright orange. After slinging the trash bags into the dumpster, Nanaiel spotted his informant waddling up to him.

  Quackziel, the angel who chose a duck as their Container, jumped onto the top of the waste container, and now both were at eye level.

  “What did you want to talk about, Brother Nananiel?”

  Angels were gifted with telepathy and could create private Mind Channels through which only angels could communicate. Nananiel and Quackziel had their own Channel but couldn’t spend too much time talking on it since the exposure risk increased the more the Channel was used.

  “Any relevant news concerning the Netherworld?” Nananiel started, getting straight to business.

  “None that I know of,” Quackziel answered. “Why are you thinking about the Netherworld?”

  Nananiel sighed and took off his cap. “I don’t know. I just… forget it.”

  “Will do.”

  Nanaiel looked to the side and cleaned some sweat off his forehead with his arm, realizing he wasn’t ready to abandon the topic just yet. “Sometimes, I wonder if the Netherworld plans to get Naomi back now that it seems the angels don’t care about her anymore.”

  “Well…” the duck said, nearing the dumpster’s edge. “The Netherworld is technically her home as well. If she decided to go and reside there, would you really have the right to stop it?”

  Nananiel suddenly lost the ability to speak.

  “Maybe, I shouldn’t have said that,” Quackziel admitted. “I apologize.”

  “No,” Nananiel said, forcing a smile. “That is a good point. If she decided to, it’s not like there’s anything I can do about it, but I would try anyway.” He eyed the ground, wondering if he was acting like an overbearing parent.

  “I see.”

  Nananiel shot a look at Quackziel. He could tell the duck was aware that he would go down to the Netherworld, losing his wings and purity from the millisecond he entered if it meant ensuring Naomi’s safety and happiness.

  “Brother Nananiel…” Quackziel said. “I have something to share with you. A recent event higher-ranked angels haven’t decided to share yet.”

  “What is it?” Nananiel asked, bracing himself and putting on a brave face.

  “Elder Sister Irin… the Archangels… have successfully imprisoned a Tainted.”

  Gill had left the delivery room to wander Ashlin’s lab while lost in deep thought.

  He wore a closed yellow lab coat and black gloves that went up to his elbows, and even with his double-valve mask, the smell of formaldehyde and hearth got through the filters.

  The Container Specialist’s lab bearing a spotless glass and white wood motif was filled with empty, naked human and demonic Containers on glass stands and in different dynamic poses. A couple of them were imitating models across fashion magazines, from squatting to standing stylishly on one foot; some were throwing punches, and others locked in a sprinting animation.

  There were also a number of ignited fire pots on the floor and multiple tables in the room where separate parts of Containers were still in their initial phase before going through the cooking process.

  Gill approached a boy’s head and leaned down to it, studying it. Thinking back to what Ashlin shared about the first Container Specialist.

  He was the one who came up with the concept of Containers in the first place. Before then, angels and demons had no feasible way to interact with the physical Human Realm besides using interdimensional messaging techniques (like burning bushes or abstract dreams). The first Container Specialist had a supernatural genetic mutation that, like others of his time, led to him being labeled a Titan.

  His name was Prometheus.

  Prometheus had developed a way to produce clay that could later be cooked, ready for a soul to occupy it. The Prometheus method was quickly adopted by creatures across the Realms, including demons and angels, but no being is as capable of creating formidable Containers as the Container Specialists.

  Footsteps reached the room, having Gill stand up straight and turn around.

  “What are you doing here, darling?” Ashlin said in her soft Russian voice as she moved up to him. “Got bored of monitoring the mother and the baby?” Her outfit was the same as Gill’s, just much tighter, flattering her unobtainable curves.

  “There’s no need for that many of us to watch over the inducement process,” Gill said.

  Ashlin pulled her mask down, showing a smile. “You’re right, darling—”

  “When am I not?”

  A giggle came out of Ashlin, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Never,” she said.

  Gill gave her a wan smile. This girl was so easy and unoriginal that it made him sick.

  “Even with all the inducements we’ve used, the dilation process is still going to take up to another 2 hours,” she said. “Any more we use and both the mother’s and baby’s hearts are going to explode—”

  “I know.”

  Ashlin’s mouth fell open as her face dropped a bit. “I’m sorry, darling, I know you do. I watched over all the inducements and left him for supervision. I’m a little tired. Needed a break. Is that okay?”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Thank you,” Ashlin said softly. She moved her hands over to his shoulders and rested her cheek against it as she fixed her eyes on Gill with a coquettish smile on her lips. “The Special Project is going very well, by the way.”

  “But how much longer?”

  She moved her lips closer to his ear. “They’ll be out today.”

  “Is that right?”

  Ashlin nodded and took his hand. “Let me show you.”

  Gill let Ashlin lead him to the line of kilns at the end of the room. They were akin to the ceramic ones the ancient Greeks used for pottery, except these were much larger, and the hole in the center was big enough for several human bodies to fit in.

  They moved down the line of kilns, each marked with a sigil that would only make sense to Ashlin. If Gill asked for their meaning, he knew she would tell him immediately with no chance of her attempting to trick him.

  The pathetic soul inside of that voluptuous meatsuit was devoid of surprises. When he said: ‘jump,’ not only would she ask: ‘how high?’ she’d also ask: ‘for how long?’ followed by: ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’

  Ashlin stopped and turned to Gill, cupping her hands over his. “Gill…” she said with her eyes sparkling and jerked her head over to the kiln they stood next to. It was much larger than the others. “No. 66 is cooling down in there. It’ll be a couple more hours before I infuse it with the residual essence. I tried some experimental things with it that makes me believe it may be the best one, yet.” She giggled as she started to hop up and down. “I think you’re really going to like it!”

  He glanced at the kiln’s dark hole and said, “Okay.”

  “I promise it’s going to be great!” Ashlin said and then bowed her head. “I worked really hard on it, dear…” she muttered.

  So unoriginal.

  Gill slipped his hand under her chin and lifted it. He held back the burning vomit rising from his chest as he did something quite unoriginal himself—giving her a deep kiss and then putting her concerns at ease by saying: “Can’t wait to see it.”

  Ashlin giggled and curled up, averting her eyes from Gill. “Thank you…” she whispered, then hunched down to wrap her arms around Gill and rest her head on her chest. “I’m sorry.”

  Gill rolled his eyes back. “For what... sweetheart?” he said in a honeyed voice, groaning on the inside. At least the warmth of her enlarged breasts felt nice against his body… her curves and Container-making skills were all she was good for.

  In any other case, he’d rather spend time with a house plant.

  “For a moment, I doubted your plan to get rid of Isaac and Violet. I’m sorry for that,” Ashlin said.

  Gill looked down at the top of her perfectly and unnaturally lush dark red hair. He started to think back. A few months back…

  The end of January when, he successfully got the Vicar and Neurologist out of the picture.

  Anderson’s Supernatural Medical Fun Facts: Some demons are spiritual beings, while some are corporeal that eat, sleep, defecate, urinate, and the whole nine-yards.