RAGNA POV...
Just then, after the three of us had finally stepped into the hall—late, hungry, and already irritated by the endless shuffle of feet and murmuring voices—we quietly slipped behind the queue like we hadn’t just made a grand, dramatic entrance that everyone absolutely noticed, even if they pretended not to.
I stood there trying to appear calm, patient, unbothered, as if my stomach wasn’t staging a rebellion and my hunger wasn’t clawing at the inside of my ribs like a caged beast begging to be let loose.
And then I saw him.
Marcus.
A fat, almost comically plump boy who stood nearly five feet tall, though his presence made him seem twice that height. His skin carried a faint fiery flush, as though embers smoldered just beneath the surface. Two tiny horns—barely two centimeters long—curved from the sides of his forehead, but honestly, those were the least remarkable things about him.
What truly set him apart were the two small red wings jutting out from his back, twitching slightly, flexing like they were impatient to burn something. His entire build reminded me of a gorilla fused with a furnace—thick arms, broad chest, heavy steps that thudded against the floor with exaggerated dominance. Every inch of him was bulky, exaggerated, almost absurdly overbuilt, and when he walked, it wasn’t just walking—it was a performance. An announcement. A threat.
We stood there pretending not to notice him as he approached from the right, but I could feel Reinee tense beside me. Berthold’s breathing shifted just slightly. I didn’t turn my head, yet I knew—some instinct told me—Noah was staring directly at me.
The moment he came into view, I recognized him instantly. So did everyone else.
The cursed children who had already collected their food paused mid-bite. Those still chatting lowered their voices. A few who had personally suffered through his infamous fits of rage began whispering nervously beneath their breath. The atmosphere tightened, thickened, like the air before a wildfire.
Ironically—almost hilariously—because we had arrived late, Marcus must have decided I was the perfect target. The new imp. The convenient victim. The easy stepping stone to the front of the line.
He strutted past the other demon children waiting behind us, and not a single one dared object. Heads lowered. Eyes averted. No complaints. No protests. No one wanted to be chosen instead.
After what felt like an unnecessarily dramatic few seconds, he stopped directly in front of me.
"Hey, little imp, you mind if I cut in front of you?"
His voice dripped with mockery, and I could practically hear the smile spreading across his face as he waited for me to tremble, to stutter, to recognize him and shrink in fear.
But I didn’t respond.
I couldn’t.
I was deep within my meditation technique, desperately isolating myself, restraining the hunger clawing at my insides. The world around me had faded into a distant hum. All I could vaguely register were Reiner, Berthold, and the silent presence of the Black Steel Knights standing like statues along the hall.
"Hey. I’m talking to you, blockhead."
His tone sharpened, irritation creeping in. I could feel Reiner and Berthold glance at each other. They were torn—I knew it. Angry, but hesitant. Unsure whether I was ignoring him on purpose or still wrestling with my demon hunger.
Under their breath, with equal parts spite and warning, they muttered his name.
"Marcus."
Among the demon children, Marcus was infamous. A bully. A tyrant. A walking disaster waiting to erupt. No one knew what kind of demon creation he was, but everyone knew about his unquenchable flames.
They said once he started burning, even water seemed afraid to touch him. Even the Black Steel Knights, stationed only a short distance away, didn’t interfere. They merely watched from the corners of their eyes, indifferent. They didn’t stop friendships, so they certainly wouldn’t stop fights.
"Little imp, I said let me cut in front of you!"
This time he grabbed my arm.
In most of his fights, the moment Marcus latched onto someone, it was like being pinned beneath a mountain. His grip was supposed to crush. Overwhelm. Dominate.
But I didn’t move.
Not even an inch.
He pulled harder.
Nothing.
I felt it—his confusion. His surprise. The subtle shift in his breathing. He tried again, muscles bulging, expecting me to stumble, to bend.
I remained rooted to the ground like an immovable pillar.
For the first time, Marcus hesitated.
Usually, overpowering others required no effort from him. But now? Now he had found something that didn’t budge.
Something interesting.
His face flushed deeper crimson, nearly matching his blazing red hair. Tiny sparks flickered into existence around him, crackling, dancing hungrily in the air before gathering into his left hand—the one gripping my arm. The flames swirled, growing brighter, hotter, threatening to incinerate flesh and bone alike.
And then—
[A Cursed child has made contact with Host]
The notification echoed through my mind.
My meditation shattered.
The flow of mana around me twisted violently, becoming chaotic, electric. But more than that—more intoxicating than anything—I felt it.
The heartbeat.
So close.
So loud.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The blood rushing through his arm, pulsing beneath my skin where he held me. It was overwhelming. Exhilarating. My body reacted before I could control it. A dangerous excitement surged through me, racing along my veins, igniting something feral and euphoric. My own heart began pounding wildly, syncing with his rhythm.
I could taste it.
Feel it.
The hunger swelled, bloated, ecstatic.
My eyelids trembled before snapping open, crimson flooding my vision.
[Requirements to devour a Cursed entity have been met]
[Analyzing consumption compatibility...]
[Devouring compatibility: 1%...]
[Analysis complete: 99% of cursed entity can be devoured. Exception: reproductive apparatus.]
I barely registered the words.
My gaze shifted upward slowly, deliberately, locking onto Marcus.
An ominous silence fell between us.
He felt it.
I saw it in his eyes—that flicker of uncertainty. That instinctive dread crawling up his spine. For just a fraction of a second, he sensed something was terribly wrong.
But he brushed it aside.
He couldn’t back down now. Not with everyone watching. Not when he had already declared himself the predator.
Poor Marcus.
He still thought I was the prey.