BERTHOLD POV...
I swear on everything I hold dear, the very air around us seemed to shudder the moment I saw it—the crimson in his eyes flaring to life like twin, blood-soaked lanterns in the dark, glowing with such vicious, menacing brilliance that my breath caught halfway up my throat and refused to move another inch.
At first, I honestly thought my mind was playing tricks on me, that perhaps the dim light and my restless imagination had conspired to fabricate something so outrageous, so absurdly terrifying, that it simply couldn’t be real. Yet, despite my desperate attempts to dismiss it as nonsense, I found myself inching closer, as though pulled by some morbid curiosity that overpowered my better judgment.
And as I stared—no, as I foolishly locked eyes with him—I felt it.
It began as a faint prickling across my skin, like icy needles grazing every inch of my body, and then it deepened into a cold that seeped straight into my bones, slithering beneath my flesh as if something unseen was trying to crawl inside me. The instant our gazes connected, something indescribable brushed against my soul, and I nearly staggered back from the sheer weight of it.
"What was that?" I heard Reiner mutter beside me, though his voice sounded distant, strained, as if he were speaking from the bottom of a well. I turned toward him, and I must have looked just as ghastly as he did, because his face had gone so pale it resembled chalk left out in the rain.
The two of us stood there, exchanging horrified glances, silently debating whether we had just imagined the entire thing or whether we had truly glimpsed something we were never meant to see.
Still, despite the dread coiling in my gut, we chose to watch. I don’t know why—perhaps we were too stunned to run, or perhaps we were fools. But then it happened again. A sound—low, unnatural, something between a growl and a whisper—scraped through the air, and before I knew it, a yelp tore from my throat as I stumbled backward in pure, undiluted terror.
At that exact moment, Ragna’s eyes snapped open.
He looked straight at us, his gaze sharp and piercing, and I could tell he had heard us. He stared as if trying to decipher a riddle, clearly unaware that just moments ago we had been staring at him like we’d seen the gates of the underworld creak open behind his pupils. He looked confused—genuinely confused—like we were the strange ones.
I could practically see the question forming in his mind: What happened to them?
Meanwhile, I could barely steady my breathing. My heart was pounding so violently it felt like it was trying to escape my ribcage, and sweat gathered at my temples despite the chilling air. Yet when I dared—foolishly dared—to glance into his eyes again, the crimson glow was gone. They looked... normal. Ordinary. Almost harmless.
And that terrified me even more.
Because I knew what I had seen.
What scared me most wasn’t just the color or the light—it was the hunger behind it. That was it. The raw, predatory hunger that felt like it could swallow the world whole and still ask for seconds. I didn’t realize it then, but that must have been what nearly unraveled us.
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RAGNA POV....
Later, when dawn came—though it felt as if the sun had risen from the west just to mock us—the carriage filled with harsh rays of light that forced everyone awake one by one. I remember waking with a jolt, as though lightning had cracked open my skull and raced down to my stomach in a vicious streak of agony.
The first thing I became aware of was pain. Not mild discomfort—no, it was the kind of head-splitting, skull-rattling torment that made me want to claw at my own temples. Then came the pain in my stomach, a savage, relentless gnawing sensation, as though some invisible beast had taken residence within me and was chewing on my insides for sport.
I tried to move, to gather myself, but my entire body throbbed as though I had been trampled by a herd of wild creatures. When the pain eased—if only for a fleeting, merciful second—I immediately began cultivating my demon meditation technique.
It was the only thing tethering me to sanity. With every breath, I inhaled and exhaled natural mana, guiding it carefully through my Mana core, soothing my nerves as though I were desperately pouring water over a raging fire.
It worked—but only barely, and only briefly.
The hunger always returned.
Worse still, the pain dragged memories to the surface like debris rising after a storm. I remembered my parents. I remembered how Gustav used to steal half my meals without a shred of guilt, and how I had endured it in silence because I had no other choice.
Back then, at least, normal food filled the ache. Now? Eating did nothing. It only intensified the agony, as if my body rejected anything that wasn’t... more.
I drew in deep mouthfuls of air, steadying myself, trying not to let the urge consume me entirely.
Then realization struck like a hammer. The last thing I remembered before everything spiraled was the thought of the holy shrine—and the black steel knight who killed my father. I had been furious, drowning in rage, and then the system notification appeared, cold and merciless: my desire had been triggered.
The second mistake was even worse. I had pushed myself beyond my limits healing Oge and tending to my family, ignoring the blood I spent as though my body would simply forgive me. But turning Bella from a halfling into a full demon—that had cost too much. I might not have minded the sacrifice, but my body clearly did.
And the most terrifying part?
I had no idea what would happen if I gave in to the urge completely.
For several long, agonizing minutes, I stood there lost in thought, calculating possibilities like a cornered animal searching for an escape route. Breakfast would be ready soon. Time was ticking.
When I finally stepped out, I met Reiner and Berthold on their way to find me. We joined the queue forming ahead, and I forced myself to breathe slowly, steadily, drawing mana into myself to dull the roaring storm within.
Yet my senses were heightened to an unbearable degree. I could hear every whisper from the other cursed children as if they were murmuring directly into my ears. Every scent, every shuffle of movement—it all felt magnified tenfold.
Strangely enough, despite everything, the children had begun to adapt. Day by day, they emerged from their shells, forming timid friendships, sharing quiet conversations. We had been torn from our homes, yes—but not from our bodies, not from ourselves.
And then I noticed him.
Standing ahead in the queue was a fat, plump boy nearly five feet tall, his skin tinged with a faint fiery hue. Two small horns—barely two centimeters—jutted from his forehead, but that wasn’t what drew my attention.
No, it was the pair of tiny red wings protruding awkwardly from his back, twitching every so often. His massive build resembled that of a gorilla, broad and imposing, as though someone had fused brute strength with flickering embers and given it flesh.
And as I stared at him, fighting the monstrous hunger clawing at my insides, I couldn’t shake the dreadful thought rising in my mind—
I was not just hungry.
I was becoming something far worse.