Metal clashed in a shower of sparks. Paris bared her teeth, her muscles screaming against Vivian's bearing weight. She pushed back, her palm plastered on the blade's flat side. Her feet skidded across the slippery floor, squeaks and squelches loud in her ears. Vivian's nose was inches from hers, giving her a good look on her eyes. There was nothing on there but a void made of liquid gold.

But every once in a while, something dark would fester. A flash of doubt. A flicker of an unnamed emotion.

Rage.

A whole lot of it.

And the sea of gold would always eat it up, engulfing it with its warm glow.

"Vivian," Paris hissed through her teeth. It was the loudest she could considering Vivian was still pressing down on her, determined to cleave through her head. "This is not you. Stop. Please."

A primal growl rose from Vivian's throat. She drew away only to come back with her sword swinging. Paris angled her dagger to catch the swing. A loud clang speared through her ear. The impact reverberated up her arm and down her spine. A groan flew out from her lips but she tightened her hold on the hilt. She's not going to back down even if it's a fight she couldn't win.

She needed to get Vivian back.

"I'll save you, Viv," Paris whispered as softly as she could. "I will always save you. But I can't if you don't let me."

As an answer, Vivian shoved Paris back. Paris slammed against the balustrade, knocking the air out of her lungs. She had to squeeze it back in when Vivian brought her blade down. She rolled, the sharp edge catching the last curls of her hair before biting the stone.

Paris scrambled out of the way as Vivian yanked her sword out at the same time whirled with a slash. Their blades connected once more. A shower of embers lit the dim forest around them.

"I don't need to be saved, Paris," Vivian seethed. The gold in her eyes burned. It sought to obliterate Paris. To chop her into smithereens. The energy in Paris's gut felt the same. If someone was out to get them, they should destroy it first.

Destroy. Such a powerful word. In the face of it, Paris was nothing. Just an inconsequent speck.

Vivian wailed almost like a cornered wild horse refusing to bow to captivity. "I never needed saving," she swung. Paris blocked with a feeble attempt. "It was always you who believed you needed to. I'm happy where I am. I'm fine with what I have. It's almost like you weren't happy with me and my life."

Paris's eyes widened. What—

"That's not what it was," Paris answered, dodging a wide blow enough to cut off her arm. Or her neck. Whichever, Vivian wasn't kidding. "That's never what it was. I just want you to be happy, Vivian."

"You think I'm happy now?" Vivian screamed. She thrust her blade forward, straight into Paris's stomach. Paris had a split second to parry it out of the way. Then, she brought her dagger up just as Vivian's sword slammed against it once more. Just like that, they're locked against each other again.

"You think I'm happy now?" Vivian asked again, more quietly than before.

Paris searched her face, her eyes for any answer to that question. She didn't find any. "You shouldn't have saved me," Vivian seethed. "You shouldn't have drank the Ancient One's blood. You shouldn't have gone with me. Shouldn't have met me."

It was Paris's turn to scream. With a sudden strength in her limbs, she drove Vivian back, her own blade quivering under the oppressing force from Vivian's. "What did all these years mean to you, then?" she twisted and brought her blade down just before Vivian could raise her guard up. She struck, again and again, barely seeing where she was landing her blows. "Why do you always have to do everything the Elders tell you to do? You are not their slave!"

"I owe them everything I am!" Vivian raged at the same time her blade arced past Paris. Both of them stumbled away from each other. Blood painted the tip of Vivian's sword. It dripped openly to the ground. It wasn't red.

It was strikingly purple.

Demon blood.

Paris clutched her stomach. The tunic she stole from Josin was cut at the waist. When her fingers brushed the site where Vivian had supposedly cut her, she found nothing but smooth skin. What...

Standing by the wall, the Elders exchanged glances—one that told Paris they were watching each and every move, deciding whether Paris should live or die at their hands. Or Vivian's.

When Paris turned back to the bearer of the angel's blood, Vivian was panting. Cuts decorated her arms. They're all from Paris. And they bleed gold.

Just like Paris's wound, they closed up not a moment too soon.

Paris lowered her dagger, letting its gold-coated edge point to the ground. Enough of this. "What about me?" she asked, raising her gaze from Vivian's purple-stained boots to her golden eyes. "Who have you become because you have me?"

Vivian's eyes widened. Her sword tip dipped. She stepped forward. "I—"

A loud squelch, like a blade burying into flesh. Vivian fell forward. Fell flat on her face. Paris only saw an ornate hilt sticking out of her back.

There was gold everywhere.

"No!" Paris's knees knocked on the ground, her fingers clawing for Vivian. Her heart thundered in her ears. Not again. Not again. She whirled to the robed figures—faceless monsters—standing just a few feet away. "What did you do?"

She got her answer when another blade plunged straight into her gut. Pain exploded into her system, the energy in her bloodstream scattering to the air in wisps of heat. She plopped down, coming face to face with Vivian.

Vivian writhed, her mouth gasping in silence as her fingers grappled with something unseen. Breathe. They need to breathe. That'd ease the pain. That'd save them. Why...

"Such disappointments," Balwyn's voice bled into Paris's ears. A set of shuffling footsteps followed soon after. The floor was a painting of purple and gold. It was both hell and heaven. Both comfort and doom.

They...they killed Vivian. After all that. They killed her.

Paris clenched her jaw, fighting through the mountain of pain gripping her torso. She twisted even though it drove flaming spikes through her and gripped Vivian's hand. Then, with the last of her strength, she sent the remaining energy towards her. Heal, she begged. Heal her.

Save my Vivian.

Nothing happened. Instead of wrapping around Vivian, it hissed and scattered into the wind. Didn't even dared touch the golden wound on her back. A humorless laugh made Paris's stomach clench and twist. Of course. Demonic blood would never mix with an angel's. That's the rule.

That has always been the rule.

And it's high time for Paris to listen to rules. Even if she didn't like it.

She twisted again, her legs curling inward. She struggled to sit up. More pain exploded in her system as the burning pike through her heart squelched deeper. "I'd stay down if I were you," an Elder's voice hissed in Paris's ears. Were they close or far away? It was impossible to tell through the haze in Paris's vision. It was impossible. "You had your chance. You didn't take it. Don't tell me you regret it now."

Tears dripped down Paris's eyes, its blazing trail leaving her colder and colder each second. Shouldn't Vivian be healing her wound on her own? She had an angel's blood. She should be able to heal herself. She'd live. Paris would be more than happy to see her alive.

A torrent of pain drove a raw scream from Paris. The pike began twisting. Round and round and round. It ground against her organs, swirling them in a purplish mess. Just turn. And turn. Paris thrashed. Bucked. Flailed.

Instead of her pained cries, it was laughter who dominated the air. "I can't believe we killed both an angel and a demon on the same day," one of the Elders said. Pain made it harder to tell which shithead was it. "But it doesn't matter. We can easily replace them. Start harvesting the blood. This time, we have both at our helm. We could just replace them. Especially this one."

Paris was vaguely aware of a foot nudging Vivian's still shoulder.

They're just going to replace her. Vivian. With her bright smile and sweet laughter. Her grit, her endurance, her prowess. Even her kindness, her courage, her love. Vivian might have lied to Paris, might have hid all that she was, but it was because she wasn't free. She had been under the Elders' thumbs all this time.

And like the ingrates they were, they're just going to throw her away like that.

They're going to replace her.

As long as she stopped being useful, she was discarded.

Vivian Delavel was gone. She's never coming back. Not when her wound wasn't healing. Not when the dagger they stabbed her with was probably hewed out of demon bones.

Not when Vivian failed them.

They were the monsters. Not the twisted demons in this twisted, fucked up forest. After all this time, humans were the most heinous monsters in this world.

As Paris's vision blackened, her fingers reached up for the pendant hidden beneath her tunic. It was nothing but a piece of rock now but it gave her comfort. It gave her the strength to do what she must do. It told her it was the right thing.

It was the right thing.

Paris tightened her grip around the pendant until the festoons pierced through skin. Then, with her one last cry, she unleashed a wrath only found in demons.