A few weeks had passed since I'd found my own grave.
A few weeks since I clawed at my flesh, screamed into Seishan's shoulder, and realized I'd come back from something that should've ended me for good.
And now, somehow, I was living in the outskirts.
If you can call this living.
I decided against staying with Effie and Sara — for a variety of reasons, most of which involved trauma and self-preservation.
But if I had to sum it up in one sentence:
I'd developed a fear of women.
Or, more accurately, a fear of those two specific women.
There's something about waking up on a floor after being double-punched by two giggling psychopaths that tends to rewire your instincts.
Unfortunately, that also meant I had to find my own place.
And that came with its own set of problems.
There were really only two options:
A) Find a random abandoned house, patch it up, maybe sleep on a pile of monster hide until I stopped smelling like death.
or
B) Go into the Dark City, steal actual furniture, and fight through nightmare creatures the whole way back.
If you know me, you already know what I chose.
Which explains why I was currently sprinting through the outskirts with a bed strapped to my back and a nightmare creature the size of a wagon howling behind me.
"Beast!" I shouted, ducking under a shattered archway. "Don't you dare drop that coffee table, you hear me!"
Beast barked in response — a guttural, echoing snarl that could probably melt steel — before bounding from rooftop to rooftop, the coffee table balanced neatly across his back like some hellish delivery hound.
It would've been funny if we weren't both about to die.
By the time we reached my "new home," I was drenched in blood, rain, and regret.
But I made it.
The house sat on the very edge of the outskirts — a two-story structure that looked half-collapsed from the outside, but I saw potential. A fixer-upper, if you ignored the claw marks, blood stains, and the fact that it smelled faintly like despair.
Still, it was mine.
I went to work.
I painted the walls a deep, rich crimson.
Painted the roof black, patched up the broken windows, threw out the junk.
Within a day, the place started to look… decent. A little unhinged maybe, but cozy in a "this guy definitely kills people" kind of way.
When it was done, I stepped back and admired it like a proud craftsman.
"Home sweet murder shack."
Beast wagged his tail.
I'll take that as approval.
Inside, it actually looked good.
A dinner table with mismatched but fancy chairs, a few stolen paintings from abandoned manors, and some candles for lighting.
Upstairs, my king-sized bed sat like a throne. I didn't even care that it was missing one leg — I just jammed a skull under it for support. Perfectly balanced.
I lay down on my bed, arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling and letting out a long, satisfied sigh.
For once, things were… quiet.
The house creaked a little in the wind, the rain outside had finally stopped, and the faint crimson glow of the dream realm's false moon leaked through my window, painting everything in shades of red.
It wasn't paradise, but for me?
It was home.
After weeks of near-death experiences, getting punched by muscular women, and carrying a bed halfway across the Dark City, I deserved some damn peace.
Unfortunately, peace never lasts long around me.
Thud thud thud.
At first, I ignored it. Probably just the wind. Or a rat. Or some nightmare creature looking for leftovers.
Then came another round.
THUD THUD THUD.
The kind that could make a door start rethinking its life choices.
I groaned, rolled off the bed, and stomped my way downstairs.
If whoever that was didn't stop, I'd give them a reason to regret having hands.
I swung the door open.
"Hey there, bloodsucker!" Effie greeted cheerfully, flashing her trademark grin. "Wanna come grab some food? You get to keep all the blood, of course."
I didn't even hesitate.
Slam.
"No, I don't want to, Effie!" I yelled through the door, voice muffled by the wood.
I turned around, trying to find my goblet of blood, because clearly, that was the only thing that could fix my mood. But before I could even take a sip—
THUD THUD THUD.
Again.
"Dammit, if you keep knocking," I snapped, "I swear to every god that's ever died, I will stab you in the heart and drink your blood!"
I yanked the door open, ready to start stabbing—
—and froze.
It wasn't Effie.
"Oh, uh…" I coughed. "Hello there, Seishan. I, uh… didn't see you there. Listen, I thought you were—"
"It's fine," she interrupted softly, her calm tone somehow more terrifying than Effie's laughter could ever be.
I exhaled in relief. The last thing I needed was to add 'fleeing from Seishan and her handmaidens' to my already long list of recent traumas.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "So, uh, not that I mind a visit, but… why are you here?"
Seishan chuckled lightly — the kind of laugh that sounded innocent but somehow carried authority. Before I could react, she stepped inside like she owned the place.
"Word reached me that you got yourself a new house," she said, her eyes scanning the interior. "I decided to pay you a little visit."
"Ah, right. That's… nice. So, you've seen it. Great. Thanks for stopping by. You're a busy woman, so you can go now."
She didn't move.
Either she didn't get the hint, or she just didn't care.
Probably both.
If I was being honest, there were worse people to spend time with.
But still — my house was my space. And right now, her presence made it feel like I'd accidentally summoned a goddess to my living room.
"So," she said, clasping her hands behind her back, "mind showing me around?"
I sighed. "Of course you'd want a tour."
And so, the tour began.
Room by room, I pointed out the things I'd stolen, fixed, or rearranged.
She listened politely, asking the occasional question, but mostly observing everything with quiet interest. Every time she smiled, I got the distinct feeling she knew way more than she was letting on.
Eventually, we reached my bedroom.
She stepped inside, eyes immediately landing on the massive king-sized bed that dominated the space.
Her lips curved into a teasing smile.
"Oh my," she said, voice just a touch too smooth. "Quite the large bed for one person… unless, of course, you're not sleeping alone?"
My blood went cold.
That was it.
That was the killing intent.
I could feel it pressing against my throat like a blade.
One wrong word here and I was going to die.
Either die, or lose something far worse than my life.
"Oh, yeah—uhh…" I stammered. "I'm the only one here, obviously! You know what they say, right? Go big or go home! Haha…"
Silence.
Then she smiled again — way too cheerful. "Oh, okay."
I didn't believe that for a second.
Was that a genuine "okay"? Or the kind you hear before someone kills you in your sleep?
Why did it sound like she just mentally filed me under 'potential target'?
Help. Somebody. Anyone. Please.
She brushed a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, then looked around again.
"So," she said casually, "where do you keep your blood? I'm thirsty. And since you're such a gracious host, maybe I'll make dinner for the both of us."
"Dinner," I repeated, deadpan. "Right."
The universe must've had a personal vendetta against me.
Still, I led her downstairs, Beast padding behind us like an oversized shadow.
As we descended the stairs, I couldn't help thinking that carrying a bed across the Dark City had been less exhausting than whatever was about to happen next.