THE DEMON SAID: "THOU SHALL SERVE THY MASTER."

"Confused what I thought with something I felt,

Confused what I feel with something that's real,

I tried to sell my soul last night.

Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite."

Kongos, Come With Me Now.

Experience had taught Set not to trust pushers who wouldn't show their junk. Priests were the worst dealers—selling stuff none could see or taste.

Even so, people loved being on the right side, and churches split the world in good and evil. Their holy scriptures vomited virtue, sins, and demons. They gave anybody who followed their rules the right to be right.

Who would pick the word of a hobo over a priest's? Not even Sybil Vain.

It still hurt.

Left alone on the terrace, Set gritted his teeth. His eyes moist, he squinted at the silent living room. The thought of smashing some furniture crossed his head, pushing his foot one step closer to the glass door.

Set couldn't care less about being on the right side. His understanding of peace and salvation was much simpler than that. He'd found a way to have a decent life, and he'd do anything to keep it as it was.

He swore under his breath and stopped there. Lost to the passing of time, he stared blankly at his own feet until Sybil's face popped up in his mind—with his magnetic eyes and innocent smile.

Set snorted in annoyance and ran his hands over his face. He had no idea how to deal with his need to be reassured. His feverish fingers dipped into his hair and pulled at them as he crumbled to the floor. A shiver ran up his spine when the cool wood hit his back, but the memory of how he'd lost his shirt brought a flush of hot blood to his face. It took him more than a minute to get rid of the image of Sybil dipped in the bathtub.

There was no way such a godlike being took an actual interest in him. Still, Set could no longer deny the obvious. He was drawn to Sybil Vain like a stupid insect to a burning streetlight. Another cuss escaped him.

Trying to rip the thought off his mind, he repeatedly hit the back of his head against the terrace floor. The action only earned him a dull pain. Disheartened, Set gave up and dropped his arms to his sides. His nostrils flared as he took in a sharp breath.

His mind wandered relentlessly, picturing Sybil as he walked alongside the priest. His hands itched to punch the guy, but he couldn't. He slapped the wooden flooring.

Knowing his only option was waiting, stirred in him an irrational terror.

He jerked up and walked to the fridge, hoping that alcohol would help silence his mind. His eager gaze scanned its inside. Among natural mineral water and fresh juices, stood a single bottle of fine Italian wine. Set sighed and grabbed it before heading back to the terrace.

Slumped on the ground, his back pressed against the wall, he popped it open and gulped the wine down. Despite the bloodlike aftertaste, the drink was almost too sweet to bear. A bitter smile bent his lips—that uncharacteristic sweetness was such a good fit to Sybil.

As the empty bottle rolled away on the terrace's floor, Set threw his head back and closed his eyes. The image of the Oracle's mouth stained in red appeared in his mind, but he chased it away and focused on his plan to kill Green. The veins in his neck bulged, his breath grew short and silent whispers crowded his head.

Set clenched his jaw, trying to control the familiar surge of energy, but the metallic taste in his mouth intensified as he pictured a knife slashing Green's neck. A sinister excitement ripped a mad laughter out of his chest. It shook him until he was left breathless.

Rationally, he knew he shouldn't be encouraging such a twisted impulse, but there was no point lying to himself. Wasn't the Priest right on his money after all? Set was meant to be a murderer.

Barely holding onto his sanity, he slipped his hand in his pocket. The tip of his fingers brushed against the ring, pure energy seeping through, filling him with boundless darkness and gold sparkles. One flicker of his eyelids after, the usual sense of peace had already enveloped him. He gasped in relief.

Withdrawing his hand, he slid to the floor. His ears filled with the slow and steady sound of his breath, he let go of any resistance and lost himself into the quiet darkness. Before he knew it, his eyelids shut and he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

A while later, muffled steps pulled him back to reality. His eyes shot open at the exact moment the terrace lights flicked on. Light stubbed his irises and ripped a groan out of his mouth before he managed to cover his face with his hands.

The slow reaction of his body made it clear he was still drunk. Nothing good would come out of a meeting in that state. Unfortunately, his nostrils had already picked on a familiar scent, and Set squinted through his fingers to take a peek.

Crouching down beside him, Sybil reached for his chest—a slow, elegant movement that brought his palm above Set's heart and triggered a storm.

Set stared at the other in between his fingers. Sybil's face was as divine, immaculate, and incomprehensible as always. This time though, the light pressure of his hand, along with his proximity, rekindled the forbidden fire in Set's abdomen.

Heart in his throat, Set swallowed hard and looked away. It was a mistake. An irresistibly low voice filled his right ear with poisonous honey, and terrifyingly pleasant shivers ran through his body.

"Thank you for playing along," Sybil drawled.

"W-what?" Set staggered in response.

"Didn't you notice I put up a little show for John?"

Graceful fingers tapped Set's chest, stepping up toward his face. Puzzled, he glanced back at the other man—another mistake. Even if he was still hidden behind his own hands, Sybil's dazzling dark eyes hooked him.

A soft chuckle fled the man's lips, while his index finger slid along the curve of Set's neck. "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. You heard the saying, right?"

In a hopeless attempt to hide his inner turmoil, Set remained quiet. Again, it was useless, and Sybil tapped the back of his hands in a silent request.

As the obedient dog he had become, Set slowly uncovered his face. His arms fell to his sides and froze in place. His whole body paralyzed as Sybil closed the distance between them. He drew a sharp breath, unable to look away.

Ivory strands flowed down the other's shoulders, brushing against Set's skin like delicate feathers. At such a close distance, each fine detail of Sybil's face was engraved in his retinae. All he managed to do was blink while the other man rested his forehead on his.

"Did I scare you again? I guess I owe you another apology then."

Sybil's quiet words resonated in his heart, shaking his very core. The man's warm breath tickled his skin, making Set further aware of the closeness. Blood pumped maddingly through his veins, shamelessly flushing his cheeks. His head blanked and, before he knew it, he threw his arms at the other.

Losing his balance, Sybil fell on top of him. His voice hesitated for the first time as he whispered, "...Set?"

"Hm?"

"...Is something bothering you?"

Sybil's weight pressed to his chest shortened Set's breath, the man's familiar scent getting to his head more than the wine he'd drunk. "No."

Sybil's head shifted to the side, his cheek resting on Set's shoulder. "It doesn't look like."

"I'm fine." Set's hand slid up the other's back, his fingers gently running through The Oracle's silky hair.

Perhaps thinking things were resolved, Sybil attempted to move, but Set gripped the back of his head, keeping him into place. He exhaled in relief when the other relaxed in his hold. It took him a few seconds to realize he'd only worsened his condition.

Soft lips ghosted his neck as The Oracle spoke again, "Are you... drunk?"

Though the concerned tone made it clear it wasn't an intentional provocation, heat rose in Set's body. His left hand clutched the fabric of Sybil's robe, twisting it among trembling fingers.

"Worserer. I'm addicted," he groaned.

Sybil's chuckle triggered another cascade of shivers, yet it filled his heart with an inexplicable lightness like a swarm of butterflies had stormed his chest.

"Well, is wine the root of your addiction?" The Oracle's tone was back to its peculiar playfulness.

Taking a deep breath, Set loosened his grip. "You are."

Silence enveloped them for a moment too long, and then Sybil pulled back enough to meet his eyes. "Aren't you mad?"

Mesmerized by the starry nights in his irises, Set couldn't help but stare back at him, his fingers playing with a strand of white hair. "No—but don't you ever do it again."

"You are not acting like yourself." Sybil adjusted his posture, shifting his weight to his right elbow. His head cocked to the side, he studied Set through half-lidded eyes. "Tell me what's in your mind."

Set huffed, peeling his eyes away. "I just thought... I should kill anyone who touches you."

Fingers pressed to the other's cheek, Sybil forced him to look back and meet a disapproving stare.

Set gave him a glare in return. "What now? I've got to forget someone's going to kill you? Haven't you asked me to change your shitty future?"

The Oracle sighed, a shade of concern darkening his ethereal features. "You have done plenty already." His soft voice sounded way more cautious than usual. "You are finally learning how to control your gift. So, think about having a normal life. Take the chance to be with Mimi and forget the rest. I will handle it."

"If you don't lemme do what I want, I'll kill her too."

"You'd never—"

"Try me," Set growled back. "I don't give a shit if I'm possessed or just nuts. I ain't the good guy you think." His tone cooled, but his eyes kept flaring. "No way I can have a normal life."

His hands withdrew from Sybil and he turned his head to the side. The Oracle's weight lifted off him completely, leaving behind an unpleasant sense of emptiness and dissatisfaction. Set ignored it, forcing his hands not to seek the other man again.

Sybil's voice took him by surprise when it blew in his ear again, "Then, should I make you good?"

Set jerked his head back, wide eyes meeting utter confidence. Bent in, the other man hovered over him. There was no trace of playfulness in his dark eyes. "Do you trust me? If you do, I can compel your demon."

"What are you talking about?"

Sybil tapped Set's nose, his eyes softening as he spoke, "I can bind it to my will." The hint of a smile graced his lips. "I won't tell you how the ritual works because the main requirement is your blind trust. So, the real question is—do you trust me?"

Set's eyes lit up with a hope he thought he'd lost. "Sure as hell I do."

If he'd been sober enough to notice the spark in Sybil's eyes, he'd have questioned it, but he wasn't. He simply let The Oracle's hand slide into his pocket and snatch the ring. The next moment, Sybil stood and without a second glance, walked inside.

Set was left staring at the night sky for a while, too inebriated to process any logical thoughts. His heightened senses picked up on the sound of returning steps, over the quickening beat of his own heart, and he glanced over.

Sybil had changed. His robe was plain white, but at his waist hung a leather piece fire-printed with a six-pointed star, surrounded by some weird symbols and inscribed in a circle. To his chest, he held something wrapped in golden cloth.

The man kneeled down in front of Set, placing his parcel on the floor. As he unwrapped it, Set's attention was caught by the pendant that swang at the height of his belly. It was a silver pentacle, inscribed in two circles—the name Astaroth in between them. His hand stretched out to touch it, but The Oracle quickly moved away.

Ignoring Set, he started drawing on the floor, using colored chalks. Little by little, a big snake formed on the wooden surface. It curled around a circle, the word Master at its center. A whole lot of unreadable characters decorated its exterior. Sybil drew a triangle at the top, inscribed more weird letters, and guided Set to stand over it.

Before Set could process what was happening, the other man picked a vial from the bunch of things he'd brought and opened it. He dipped his index finger in a dark liquid and reached for Set's forehead. As soon as Sybil's fingertip traced a line on his skin, the smell of blood filled his nostrils. It was the real deal. Set grabbed the other's wrist to stop him.

Sybil didn't falter, bestowing him a patient smile. "Trust me, and stay still."

Though unwillingly, Set let go of him and kept on place. The Oracle's finger got back to work, tracing an unknown design on his forehead. Along the route it followed, Set's skin heated up. Despite the burning sensation, he clenched his teeth and stayed still.

When he was done, Sybil moved at the center of the snake, exactly on top of the word Master. His gaze trailed over each of the letters he'd traced on the floor, and he mouthed them as if doublechecking.*

Set had no clue what they meant, yet they triggered him in a disturbing way. It was as though his demon craved to respond.

"Adonai Tetragrammaton, Astaroth Soluzen, Halliza, Bellator, Bellonoy, Hallii Hra.*" Sybil concluded, and his gaze darted up to Set's.

The demon's energy flared inside of him with an intensity he'd never experienced. Hot and cold flashes made his body shiver uncontrollably, covering him in sweat. His skin burned and his vision clouded as though he was covered in dark flames. Overwhelmed, he gave up on resisting.

A snarl erupted from his mouth.

Sybil brought his hand to the height of his mouth, the ring gleaming on his ring finger. His silvery voice cut through the frizzling air, "I'm the one who summoned you by means of the secret seal of the wise King Solomon. Duke Astaroth, grant me a clear answer."

Set had no control over his own growl. "Why have you summoned me, Oracle?"

Sybil closed his eyes, hand tracing in the air the same words written in the triangle*. His index finger pointed at Set and his voice rang authoritative, "Astaroth, by the name of Mykal Yhvh Alhym Tzbaut*, I command you. Be sealed within this carnal vehicle. The owner of this ring shall be your Master. As it was, so shall it be."

Set fell to his knees, his voice tamed into a low groan. "So be it."

"You'll be called forth when your Master deems it necessary. Take your leave now, and let peace stand eternal among us."

As the demon nodded, Set bent in on himself, coughing violently. He had to press his hands to his mouth not to puke. His legs were still shaking, his muscles aching for the excessive pressure sustained. Yet, Astaroth vanished within him, leaving no traces of his presence behind.

"What... happened?" he panted to the floor.

Sybil approached and kneeled in front of him. Quietly, he took off the ring, held Set's hand, and dropped it on his palm. His hand clasped Set's, guiding his fingers to close around the jewel.

Eventually, he adjusted his posture to sit on his heels and his soft voice broke the awkward silence. "Among the seventy-two demons compelled by Solomon, Astaroth was the twenty-ninth. According to the legend, the demons were sealed in pillars by the power of the King's ring." Despite the subject, he sounded as soothing as slow waves lapping at a white sand beach. "Since nowadays the pillars are nowhere to be found, I twisted the ritual a bit, and sealed Astaroth within you."

"So, that thing won't come out unless you ask?"

Sybil nodded.

After years of tribulation, Set confirmed his simple understanding. He'd found his personal heaven. There was nothing else he needed. He glanced at Sybil's hand, still holding his own before his eyes returned to the other man's.

"You better forget about me leaving with Maria."

Sybil sighed. "Set, I don't need your protection." He withdrew his hand and joined it with the other on his lap. His gaze fell on them. "I just—well, I was under the impression you liked Mimi." His hands folded, but he raised his chin and bestowed Set a firm gaze. "Regardless of that, I want you to leave."

Set grunted. "Are you serious?"

"You deserve a good life, and I can give you enough money to make sure you'll have it. It wouldn't make sense to turn down my offer." Sybil's tone grew more and more paternal with each word.

If there was anything that could make Set break out in hives, it was that kind of attitude. Advice never sat well with him, and it was absolutely absurd for Sybil Vain to take up the father's role at that point. Set balled up his fists, trying to suppress his annoyance.

"I don't give a shit about your money, and I've got no intention of going any-fucking-where," he spat back as he thrust the ring in his pocket.

"Set, it's not in your best interest to—"

Set snapped and grabbed Sybil's neck with both hands, pushing him to the ground. The blood mark left on his forehead burned like it was telling him to let go, but it only served to increase his irritation.

"What the fuck do you know about me?" he barked.

"Your best possible futur—"

Set tightened his grip, choking the words in Sybil's throat. However, as soon as the other man gasped for air, he backed off and slapped himself instead.

Not a word of complaint, Sybil quietly rubbed his neck. As he smoothed out his collar, the slight tremor of his fingers was the only sign of what just happened. He didn't even try to slip out of his questionable position.

His voice came out hoarse when he spoke again, yet he sounded calm and reasonable, "If you do as I say, you'll have a normal life."

Set couldn't believe his ears. Nobody in their right mind would say such a thing to the one who just choked them out. He laughed dryly.

Sybil's gaze shifted to the night sky, embracing the moon above. "Why me?"

Still sitting atop of him, Set let out an exasperated groan. "For the last ten years, every-fucking-body saw me as a psycho. Even Maria... she pretends it's nothing, but she's always scared." His palms rested on the other's chest, and his voice caught in his throat. It took him a moment to bend in and hiss his next words, "You are the only exception."

The Oracle kept quiet, his eyes fixed on the moon. Dew pearled his white eyelashes. It graced the onyx of his irises and reflected in a golden glow the lamps of the terrace. His pristine white hair, scattered in waves around his head, his wrinkled robe, and the way his body was abandoned on the floor, gave him a disheveled look that was in stark contrast with his usually neat appearance. At the same time, it was dangerously close to how he looked in the water.

Despite his otherworldly radiance, he was reachable.

He was human.

Set swallowed back. His head spun. His chest tightened around his racing heart. Tears formed at the sides of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He squinted and drew a breath through his teeth.

"I can't stand you. Why the hell did you take me in, if you were planning to throw me away? You're the worse," he growled. "And, if I leave, what happens the day somethin' goes wrong?" His voice quivered, and when he spoke again it was almost a whisper. "If... If I think about going back to that shit... I'd rather be with you for the rest of my life."

Sybil's sigh made him realize he'd said too much, but it was already too late to take it back. Set swore under his breath and chewed his bottom lip. Unable to think of a way out, yet unwilling to give up, he found no other escape but to sit tight and shut his eyes.

He barely had the time to think the damage was irreparable, that comforting warmth enveloped him. Gentle fingers laced behind his neck and pulled him down. His eyes flicked wide open. He witnessed in disbelief the distance being eaten up, inch after inch, breath after breath.

Sybil's eyelids drifted down and without haste, The Oracle's lips met his.

Their touch was the fickle splendor of a butterfly gracing a flower, caught in a moment of real-life slow motion, and Set's heart stopped there too.

"The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" Sybil whispered against his mouth.

If Set had regained a split of his self-control, that very moment he lost it all, along with his own sense of self, and any resolve to get them back. Alcohol and adrenaline gave him just the right push, and he clung to the other man like a survivor in the middle of the ocean—desperately quenching his thirst at the source of life, drowning in the taste of an unexpected spring.

It wasn't his first kiss. It was better. Rediscovering something after it was lost for so long—was a miracle. His heart was about to burst out of his chest and yet, it was filled with peace and an overwhelming sense of completeness.

He would die in that instant and be completely satisfied with it.

Sybil Vain was not just a prophet—he was a creator of destinies, the black hole in which Set could throw all his past, and the immaculate book where he could rewrite his future. Sybil Vain had the power to make them both disappear, erasing concepts and preconceptions, trapping Set into the limitless eternity of a moment, in which everything was possible.

It became clear then—there was no way out of such an addiction.

It was only when the man pulled back and questioning black eyes pierced Set's very soul that he came back to his senses. As if his demise wasn't clear enough, after he averted his gaze, heat flooding his body in all the worst places, he found his cursed hands still pulling at the other's robe.

The Oracle cupped his cheek, his thumb brushing against Set's lower lip. "I don't want to let you go either, but I need to consider what's the best course of action." His voice soothing despite his ruffled breath, an innocent beam bent his pearly lips. "So, I have to insist."

"I really want to kill you now."