AI Rory slashed the Fae-forged blade through the Veil's final shimmer, the moonsilver edge humming cold against the crimson pulse of her Heartstone pendant. Vines erupted from the rift, coiling thick and glossy around her wrist before yanking her forward. She landed hard, knees buckling into soil that squelched like fresh dough under her boots.
Nyx materialised from the shadow of a bulging gourd plant, their silhouette sharpening into humanoid edges. Violet glow flickered in the vague hollows of their eyes.
Isolde glided through last, silver hair trailing like mist. No mark marred the earth behind her.
Rory wrenched her arm free, the vine snapping with a wet pop. Sticky sap clung to her skin, warm and tingling, carrying a scent that twisted hunger in her gut, sharp and insistent. She wiped her hand on her jeans, but the residue spread, leaving her palm slick.
"Portals chew and portals spit," Isolde murmured, pale lavender eyes distant. "What enters whole may leave in bites."
Rory shot her a glance, bright blue eyes narrowing. The blade stayed drawn, its leaf-shaped edge catching faint gleams from... somewhere. She scanned the sprawl ahead: endless rows of vines sagged under clusters of fruit the size of her fist, skins mottled purple-black and veined with gold. Berries the length of her forearm dangled lower, split open to reveal glistening flesh that wept syrupy beads. The air hummed low, a vibration rising from the ground like distant chewing.
Nyx drifted forward, incorporeal tendrils probing a vine. It quivered at their touch, leaves unfurling to release puffs of steam laced with cinnamon and charred meat.
"Alive," Nyx whispered, voice rustling like dry leaves in a breeze. "This realm breathes gluttony. Every root hungers."
Rory crouched, fingers sinking into the soil. It yielded soft, almost spongy, threads of something fibrous lacing through it, pulsing faintly. She pulled back, soil crumbling warm between her fingers, flecked with iridescent grains that dissolved on her tongue when she brushed them away. Salty. Sweet. Her stomach growled despite the fullness from her last meal hours ago.
"Stay sharp." She rose, sheathing the blade but keeping the pendant clutched outside her shirt. It throbbed steady now, a thumbnail-sized ember against her scar— that old crescent on her wrist itching in sympathy. "Isolde, you said this was the way to answers. About the pendant. About whatever's bleeding through to London."
Isolde tilted her head, waist-length silver strands swaying without breeze. "Answers feast where questions starve. Follow the appetite, child of iron and ink."
They pressed deeper, boots sinking rhythmic into the loamy paths. Petals crushed underfoot, releasing bursts of perfume—jasmine laced with bacon fat, rose undercut by molten chocolate. Distant clatters echoed : knives hacking flesh, ladles scraping vast cauldrons, guttural laughs booming over slurps and crunches. Rory's mouth watered unbidden, saliva pooling thick.
A low wall of woven branches bordered the path, topped with platters that materialised from nowhere. Golden loaves steamed, crusts cracking to spill honeyed steam. Cheeses wept blue veins, mould blooming fresh before their eyes. Rory paused, hand hovering.
"Don't." Nyx's form solidified fully now, six-foot-two frame looming protective. "Temptation binds tighter than chains."
Isolde plucked a grape, popping it between her teeth. Juice dribbled chin-ward, staining ethereal skin rosy. She licked her lips deliberate.
"Bindings loosen with indulgence. Or snap."
Rory ignored the gnaw in her belly, pushing past. The vines thickened into tunnels, arches groaning under weight of fruit. One cluster brushed her shoulder—peaches swollen obscene, fuzz vibrating soft. Touch sent a shiver up her arm, warmth flooding her veins, easing the knot in her shoulders from the delivery shift earlier. She jerked away, heart quickening.
"Feel that?" She flexed her fingers . "It's... feeding back."
Nyx nodded, shadow-hand trailing the arch. Fruit quivered , swelling imperceptibly.
"Symbiosis. Eat or be eaten. Dymas devours restraint."
The tunnel opened to an orchard vast as a park, trees ancient and twisted, bark etched with faces frozen mid-moan. Branches bowed low, laden with orbs: apples striped crimson-and-gold, pears translucent as glass revealing pits that spun lazy like clockwork hearts. Windless air hung heavy, humid, clinging to skin like a lover's sweat. Rory breathed deep, nostrils flaring at the medley—roasted nuts, fermenting plums, something savoury like marrow sizzling.
She approached a tree, crescent scar burning now. The lowest branch offered a pear, dangling insistent. She grasped it. Cold at first, then blooming hot in her palm, skin splitting to release mist that fogged her vision sweet.
One bite.
Juice exploded across her tongue, tart-sweet nectar flooding senses: summer berries crushed with vanilla pods, undertone of cream and smoke. Euphoria bloomed, limbs loosening, worries of Evan, Eva, the flat above Silas' bar melting distant. She chewed slow, pit crunching between teeth, releasing sparks that danced down her throat.
Nyx watched, form flickering uneasy.
"Enough."
Rory swallowed, aftertaste lingering bitter, like ash under honey. Her stomach roiled, full yet craving more. She dropped the core; it hit soil and burrowed instant, sprouting tendril that snaked toward her boot.
Isolde laughed soft, riddle-veiled.
"One taste plants the seed. Harvest comes unbidden."
They veered left, following a brook that gurgled thick, wine-dark liquid flecked with floating petals and herbs. Bridges arched over it, carved from cheese rind hardened translucent, veined green. Rory dipped a finger; the wine clung viscous, tasting of blackcurrant and aged oak, warmth spreading instant to her chest.
"Straight from the vines," Nyx murmured, violet eyes tracing the flow uphill, defying gravity. "Rivers run backward here. Plenty flows eternal."
Deeper still, gardens unfurled: hedges sculpted into thrones, beds of herbs shoulder-high, leaves broad as platters exhaling steam that coalesced into broth droplets. Exotic blooms nodded heavy-headed: flowers with petals like pastry flakes, stamens dripping custard yellow. Insects hummed drunk, bodies bloated, wings gummed sticky.
A pavilion loomed ahead, marble veined rose and cream, columns carved as banquet tables overflowing illusory roasts. Helbound souls bustled within—translucent figures in aprons stained eternal, chopping phantom vegetables that bled gravy. Demons oversaw, squat and horned, bellies distended, prodding with forks longer than Rory's arm.
Laughter erupted from the centre: a grand feast under a canopy of woven vines dripping fruits. Tables groaned under tureens bubbling iridescent stews, towers of pastries collapsing slow into pools of glaze. Guests gorged—more souls, faces slack with bliss, cheeks bulging rhythmic .
Rory halted at the treeline, pendant scorching now. One soul looked up, eyes hollow despite the mouthfuls, recognising the glow.
"You." The soul rasped, fork pausing mid-air. "Bearer. He waits for you."
"Who?" Rory stepped forward, blade half-drawn.
Isolde gripped her arm light, nails like frost.
"Waits with open maw . Princes dine on more than flesh."
Nyx dissolved partial, shadows scouting the pavilion edges.
"Belphegor's mark. Everywhere. This revel hides teeth."
The soul rose, belly sloshing audible, and lumbered toward them. Others turned, forks clattering, grins stretching too wide. The air thickened, scents turning cloying, breaths syncing into one vast rumble.
Rory backed step, blade fully out now, cold moonsilver gleaming .
"Run or fight?"
Isolde's lavender eyes sharpened prophecy.
"Fight feeds the feast."
The nearest soul lunged, jaws unhinging cavernous, gravy-slick hands grasping. Nyx reformed solid, slamming shadow-fist into its chest. It burst not blood but broth, spraying hot across Rory's face.
More surged, tables overturning in cascades of sweets and savouries. A demon bellowed from the pavilion heart, eyes locking on the pendant's blaze.
"There! The key!"
Rory spun, slashing the Fae blade through the first wave. Moonsilver sheared wards invisible, souls dissipating in shrieks that tasted of vinegar on the tongue. But dozens poured from the gardens now, vines animating behind, fruits plummeting like boulders.
Nyx grabbed her shoulder, incorporeal pull yanking her toward the brook.
"Back to the Veil!"
Isolde lingered, silver hair flaring as she hurled a riddle-woven ward.
"Gluttons chase shadows, but shadows bite deepest."
The demon charged , belly splitting to birth smaller fiends writhing hungry.