TW: Mention of self-harm

Grimm summons his scythe out of the shadows without so much looking at it as his hand curls tightly around the steel pole. The end of it slams hard against the floor, dispersing the darkness back into the corners of the room. I wince at the echo. My head was still throbbing from the spirits' foretellings. Many are going to die tonight. I pushed myself off the wall and slightly wobbled toward Grimm.

His silver curved blade was caught in the moonlight, looming over him as something more fearsome than Death himself. He might've created the weapon. but it was clear the scythe itself was an incarnation of judgment. "All I wanted was one night without interruptions," Grimm said, as he then asked politely while holding a murderous gaze. "Is that pretty head of yours okay?" I would've snorted but given the foreboding we just experienced, it seemed inappropriate. I settled for tapping my head on the side as an indication that my skull was still intact.

Grimm nods and promptly turns, "Good. Let's go see this through and settle it." He marches toward the door with furious steps.

I've never seen Grimm so upset. He was bothered by the people dying tonight, but it's not any different from any other night or day of people dying. Grimm has a complicated job of never being able to have the day off. He understands and knows this. Still, I followed after him with a somewhat steady breath. Nervousness was slowly trickling into my stomach. I couldn't think of any reason why so many people would die tonight. The spirits' predictions were muddled together as if they were bickering sisters. But I had heard something else before the spirits spoke of anything. A wounded beast roaring in agony, raw and malevolent. I shudder.

I thought about the guests, maybe they drank poison or inhaled sickness. What could kill so many people? Grimm swung the door open, and there stood his most loyal demon. Hans' perfectly blond hair was undone and his chest was heaving as if he had run a marathon. But as unusual he kept his impassive face. "They're coming for her." He said out of breath, then turned his gaze to mine. "And they have your friend." My heart stopped.

"Explain," Grimm commanded.

Hans steeled his spine barely meeting his height. "Another witch saw Miss Arslan and questioned her attendance at this party. When she tried to lie, the witch forced the truth out of her. She knows the daughter of Nicolás is here and has alerted other witches and warlocks nearby." He inhales sharply, "They're probably here already."

Gone was the nervousness I felt, and only my anger was on the rise. Dilara wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't meant to be involved in any of this. Dilara was on a sabbatical in Oregon disguised as punishment for making the son of a higher authority warlock lose his fingers. She had been away from her family for over a year without communication until my father recently gave her a message from her family. She is meant to be reunited with them in Istanbul in a few days but now...

My mind swirled as I thought about the first time I met Dilara. If she hadn't met me or known me since the beginning, she would've been fine. But my loneliness has now put her life in danger. Dilara Arslan will not die today. I will trade another life, even my life if I must but she is not going to die today.

"Where is she? Where did they take her?" I insisted, harsh and cold.

The demon answers thoroughly. "I last saw her in the foyer, but before I left, the witch conjured a pair of—" he swallows, "restraints. She is magicless." Hans spits out quickly, too quickly. "I can break them." Grimm shot him a brief questioning look.

Dilara was strong with and without her magic. She is preserving flame. No matter how strong the wind blows, she burns more. But the more time I wasted standing in front of Grimm and Hans, I couldn't help but think about what they would do to Dilara. The witch was now aware of my existence, and an association with the daughter of a 'mad warlock' I doubted they would let her ever see her family again. But I won't let that happen. No more separations.

I shoved past Hans as fast footsteps approached after me until a cold hand seized my arm and spun me around. "Let me go. I can't leave her." I said furiously.

Grimm's grip tightened. "I'm not going to tell you to leave her. But you need a plan. If you go down there without one, they'll—"

"So let them." I snapped. His jaw tightens as his eyes move back and forth. "She can't die, Grimm. Dilara can't die. They hurt her more than enough." I pull my arm but he doesn't loosen his hold.

My gaze hardens. After a minute, Grimm let my arm go and said. "A plan. We need a plan." He lowers his voice with a steel tone. He was right about needing a plan but my brain was occupied with more violent thoughts than clarity of the whole situation. My body was starting to tremble, I quickly crossed my arms. "Do you have a plan?" I gritted out.

He turns to Hans, asking. "Who is still here?"

"Only us. The last guest left an hour ago." Hans reported. "The soul convinced Daisy Croft we were friends of her daughter, and we were welcome to celebrate longer. Mrs. Croft should be asleep and the soul possessing Rose Croft's body should be in the garden. She is waiting for us to take her." He finished.

What the fuck did any of this have anything to do with Dilara? I didn't care about the guests of the party or anyone's soul. I care about my friend's life. "What is the plan?" I said irritated.

Grimm's gaze shifted back to mine, "I'm thinking of one but first we need to know how many souls I'll be taking tonight." My brows push together. He walks over to the wall and spreads his long fingers over it. "You're overworking me, raven." A sly smirk reaches around his red lips.

I glare at him.

"Take a step back," Hans mutters beside me, I raise a brow at him. He points at Grimm and my gaze turns to see Grimm calling forth the darkness. Pooling from every corner of the corridor as the light quietly falls asleep. My feet move away as does Hans. We watched the shadows swirl around Grimm and invade his face, it felt like we were seeing a man being turned into a monster.

Grimm steadies himself with his scythe. His knuckles were turning white, his chest constricting as the blackened poisonous veins corrupt him. I didn't understand why they were hurting him. Moments ago, the shadows were playful but now, they seemed vengeful and out of control. Looking away I said to Hans, low and quiet. "Should he be doing this?" I had overheard their conversation earlier. Hans was concerned about Grimm's well-being too. He had asked Grimm if he wanted him to bring a pair of gloves. But why did he need them? Why was he losing control over the darkness? Unless Grimm was telling the old woman the truth when he said didn't always have this power. Was it born the day he lost his wings?

The loyal demon finally answered. "No, but it must be done." I couldn't see his face through the dark fog but I heard the trouble in his voice.

Abruptly, the lights in the corridor turn back on. Grimm presses himself against the wall, his eyes half closed and his breathing short. Hans took one step forward and Grimm ordered him away. "Don't. I'm not safe yet." Hans listened. The shadows were still blackening the wall behind him but Grimm managed to remove himself and straighten his posture as if he wasn't in any pain.

"Twenty of them are on the second floor and hiding. Twelve of them are on the first floor in the foyer. Miss Arslan is with them." He inhales sharply, and his neutral face returns. Thirty-two witches and warlocks in total. Fucking hell. At least we knew what floor Dilara was, and that's where I needed to go.

I met his midnight eyes, the darkness still embodied him. "I can do the killing tonight and you can watch." Hans raised his blonde brow. Grimm twirled his scythe and took one long stride. "Perhaps another day. They ruined our night and I deserve a little compensation for it." He said with a slight tone of bitterness at the end.

Despite Grimm's disheveled and distressed state, he still had the aura of a powerful being. He was transforming into The Capturer of Souls and he was going to take them all to their end.

"Hans and I will take care of the witches and warlocks on the second floor. After we're done, we'll meet you on the first floor and Hans will break Miss Arlsan's chains." The Capturer of Souls met his demon's gaze. "Go for the heads but try to be quiet." A flash of annoyance passes through Hans' features.

After more questions, I finally asked them. "Do any of you have something sharp and small?" Grimm's scythe was too big for what I wanted to do, but I hoped one day I could swing it once. Grimm's gaze narrowed. "I'm not going to hurt myself. I'm too pissed off to do that right now." I said as the muscle in his jaw twitched.

He gave Hans a curt nod, allowing him to take out a silver knife from the inside of his pocket suit. He hands it over. The shape of the knife reminds me of my mother's dagger, except it was a bit smaller and without engraving letters. But it easily could've been a twin. "Do you always carry this with you?" Hans nods. "Where did you get it from?" I walk down the hallway and face the wall.

"Why do you ask?" Grimm questioned but he seemed wary.

I shrugged. "It's pretty. I like it." I stab the knife through the wall.

Hans frowns. "It is not pretty. Do not call Emil pretty." Oh, I can't wait to tell Dilara this shit.

"You call your knife Emil? How old are you? Twelve?" His cheeks turn pink as he responds impatiently. "Give it back." I wave him off as I continue to drag the knife down the wall, carefully and quietly.

"Tell her to give it back to me," Hans tells Grimm and he tries to console him. "She is almost done. Hurry, raven. Demons make their weapons and forge them in Hell's fire as it is the only way they can hurt a soul. It's hard for them to let them be used by others." Grimm murmurs under his breath. "Like children with their blankets."

But Hans heard him. "Is that why you hold your scythe so closely, Your Majesty? Because it is your blanket?" Grimm said nothing but might be giving his most loyal demon the most awful glare.

Oddly enough, I was trying hard to suppress a smile.

I kept focusing on craving the lines, etching them across the wall. It was my defense, my protection. They were sigils. I've been practicing by drawing or painting them, but I want something permanent. They won't be able to wash this away or paint it over. I intend to leave a mark they'll never forget.

As I finished the last sigil the wall looked as if an imprisoned monster had torn through. Shredded and clawed. "Have you ever thought of taking up calligraphy?" Grimm said as he looked over at the sigil. I handed Hans his precious Emil back. "All the time," I said flatly.

We marched on, and Grimm matched my pace. "It was just a suggestion." He said quietly.

I rolled my eyes. "Not the right time to bring it up."

"It is never the right time." He then says more seriously. "You're going to bring them up here, aren't you? Is this how you're planning to reintroduce yourself to the world?" A reintroduction. I shouldn't have to reintroduce myself to the world because I've always been here. I've never left. The moment my magic is unveiled, everyone will be able to feel it and locate me. But I don't want to be found to be killed. No, when they feel my magic I want them to fear it. What I am leaving behind is what matters: the end.

"No survivors, Grimm. Leave no one at all."