The suburb of Evergreen Acres was quiet in the hushed predawn hours. Sprinklers chattered over parched summer lawns and small birds sang from the comfort of their gathered nests. Porch lights waited in open invitation, attracting swarms of dappled moths and gray gnats. A lone dog barked from the confines of his yard, and his cry echoed throughout the entirety of sleepy Spruce Street.  

The Sin of Envy sloughed off the influence of the Realm, appearing from one moment to the next on the sidewalk outside of a particular home in Evergreen Acres' idyllic neighborhood.

In his shadow crouched the Sin of Wrath. The mad Sin clutched a pair of fresh, folded slacks and a stolen button-down to his chest. 

Balthier sniffed as he retrieved a blackened crisp of paper from his suit pocket. The lettering upon the disintegrating scrap was blurred, but the Sin could decipher the messy scrawl of a woman's handwritten address. 

He flicked what was left of Sara Gaspard's burnt employee registration card into the wind.

"Come," Balthier said, striding forward into the overgrown yard. Sethan followed, his bare footsteps creating a shuffling noise upon the walkway's bricks. The front door gave under Balthier's soft but persistent shoving. The crack of the lock breaking hit the Sin's ear like a gunshot.

The interior of the house was in dispassionate disarray. Light from the street illuminated the side of a lumpy sofa and a crooked coffee table. Books of various sizes and ages cluttered the expanse, some spilling to the floor below. The scent of burnt coffee clung to the air, as though someone had forgotten to turn off the coffee pot.

As expected, the woman's house was already empty.

Balthier sighed as he flared the light. The brighter effulgence did little to improve the droll setting. Sethan crept inside behind Envy, wincing through the curtain of his filthy as the light struck his tender eyes. The emaciated Sin drew in breath after breath, each inhalation rattling in the cavern of his chest.

He was tasting the essence. With each sample, the Sin was learning—discovering what had changed in the world since Balthier had shut him away in the Realm a century ago. Souls created and expended energy, and the byproduct of that process essence. Energy dissipated, but essence lingered, and within it held traces of emotion, memory, and knowledge. The thicker the crowd, the thicker the essence, the faster a Sin could assimilate.

Balthier stood at the mouth of the hall as he surveyed the vacated domicile. "Go bathe," he snarled at Sethan, jabbing a finger toward the dark bathroom. "You disgust me."

Wrath did as he was bid. He had no choice. Even if he had been of a sound mind and capable of disobedience, the demon was overwhelmed by the sheer deluge of information and sensation flooding his senses.

Terrestria had changed greatly while he had languished in the Realm.

Balthier listened to Sethan walk into the other room and shut the door. It took a minute, but eventually the pipes gurgled as the Sin managed to operate the faucet. Balthier adjusted his gaze, his hand swiping across the dusty breakfast bar. He looked over the living room, then at the wall nearest to him. A picture hung there, and Balthier reached out to straighten the frame.

The image of two girls was preserved behind the frame's glass. Judging by the slight loss of pigment, the photo was nearly a decade old. Both of the girls were identical in appearance. They were two thin youths with black hair and vivid, cyan eyes, dressed in matching sweaters. Snow fell around them. It stuck to their eyelashes and the thick fabric of their knitted clothes.

Balthier studied the girl on the right. He drew upon a recollection, one that was all too familiar to him of late. In the memory, he stood within a shallow vat of hot blood, allowing the cloying liquid to lap at his soles. He had touched the face of the woman he studied now and had caressed the line of her jaw. She had been a breath away from death, clinging to life by a frazzled filament that snapped while the Sin had breathed in the energy of her flickering soul.

Balthier's eyes moved to the other girl. He recognized her as well, only she hadn't been near death in his memory. She'd been vividly alive and furious. She had screamed at him to go to Hell while she had fought her captors with every ounce of viable strength in her slight frame. The aroma of orchids had clung to her hair, and Balthier had almost been able to taste the salt of her blood and tears.

He killed her. Or, at least, Balthier thought he did. He had driven the dagger into her side, had heard the clipped paroxysm of her heart racing toward its end. She had died. He knew she had died.

And yet....

"Sara," Balthier crooned, tracing the outline of her smiling face. "My lovely little wayward host. Where has that dog taken you?"

Sara Gaspard was Darius's host. She was also Balthier's.

The Sin of Envy was certain Pride hadn't yet come upon that resolution. The fool was much too thickheaded—but he would realize it eventually. He had killed every cult member present for the ritual calling, and yet Balthier had not been forced back into the Pit. His continued presence within Terrestria meant his host was still living, and the only person left alive who had been inside the warehouse was Sara Gaspard.

By failing to kill her, Balthier had formed an inadvertent contract with the bright eyed woman.

What would Darius do when he realized the truth? Kill the girl? Use her?

The house's rafters complained as the temperate abruptly dropped. Furious, Balthier knocked the photo from the wall. The frame shattered as it struck the floor.

The water was turned off in the bathroom.

Balthier turned to pace the living room, each step laying frost upon the hardwood. It pooled outward from the creature's leather shoes until it lapped at the baseboard and clawed at the walls. He could smell Darius. His insufferable scent lingered in the very fibers of the furniture, riding the air in a mix of ash and sandalwood.

It sickened Balthier.

The bathroom door opened as Sethan exited the muggy room. He was dressed in the new clothes Balthier had stolen for him, his hair scrubbed and cut short. The Sin's features were still predominantly Absolian, but his cheeks and bones were slowly rounding, lessening the severity of his countenance.

Balthier sneered, his chest trembling with the effort to control his temper. "Better. At least you don't smell like a cur."

Sethan groaned in response. His blank eyes flew about the space, unable to focus, lost in pain and delirium. A high-pitched whine sounded within his throat and worked itself into pitches beyond the hearing of human beings.

"Oh, shut up." Balthier passed the Sin into the hall, shunting Sethan aside so he could enter the bedroom in the back of the house. Clothes were strewn across the floor and bed, undoubtedly abandoned in their owner's swift departure.

The Sin of Envy knelt on the carpet to retrieve a blue, long-sleeved blouse. He brought the collar of it to his nose and lightly inhaled. The redolent smell of orchids filled Balthier's senses, accompanied by the subtler notes of skin and a sweat. His anger rose anew. The woman herself mattered little to Balthier: that Darius dared take something of his, dared touch his host, stoked the ire scorching the ancient demon's mind.

Some days he felt as mad as Sethan. Perhaps he was.

The shadows heightened and pressed at the walls, cracking the drywall. Balthier threw the shirt at Sethan, who caught it and held it away from his body as if it were a live snake.

"Use that to find her," Balthier ordered, rubbing his cheek and mouth. "Bring her to me."

The Sin of Wrath gripped the soft cloth between his hands and pulled it taut. "You..." he seethed in a voice broken like gravel crunching underfoot. "You told me I would kill Darius." The cloth began to tear at the seams. "I'm going to kill Darius."

Sethan's energy spilled forth, uncontrolled, bringing the scent of brimstone and decay.

Balthier stood. "You'll do as I say."

Again that hungry, depraved whine began in Sethan's throat. It wasn't the whine of a whipped dog. It was a warning, a primal siren of oncoming doom wielded by the Absolians as they chased their prey. Sethan's cry was not powerful. Balthier had heard the genuine sound just once in his long, long life. He had bled from the ears for two days.

Balthier grabbed Sethan by the throat and threw him into the wall. His own eyes blackened as he snarled, nails lengthening in the strained flesh of the Sin's scrawny neck. "You will do as I say or I will put you right back into your cage!"

Envy released him. Sethan slid along the wall, wheezing for breath as he covered the fresh wounds on his throat. Balthier extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and began to systematically clean the blood out from under his nails.

"Do we have an understanding, Sethan?" 

The Sin of Wrath released his own neck as he glared at Balthier. Envy had to admit, the creature looked remarkably like his brother when he adopted such an intractable expression. But Sethan was not Darius. Wrath was mad. Unpredictable. And wholly under Balthier's influence.

"Yes." 

Balthier tossed the soiled handkerchief to the floor. "Bring me the girl by any means you need."

A defiant light was born and died in Sethan's black eyes. "Yes," he repeated, ripping the shirt in half. He kept a sleeve to himself, then dropped the rest. "By any means...." 

The Sin of Wrath vanished into the Realm. Balthier stared at the blouse's remnants, wishing the pungent incense of orchids would leave him even as he breathed in another lungful of the fragrance.

"Go to Hell," her voice echoed.

"Don't fail me, Sethan," Balthier muttered as he splayed a hand over his heart, thinking of another woman in another time who had looked at him with such fury and hatred. "It might just be the last thing you ever do."