Chapter 11: For Gail

He didn’t approach right away.

Aiden lingered in the dark hallway for a breath longer, allowing the fire inside his chest to settle—not burn out, just smolder.

That was the trick, wasn’t it? Not to act on the heat of rage... but to let it simmer. Let it boil beneath the surface until it tasted like....purpose.

He took a step forward.

Silent.

Then another.

The door creaked as he opened it—slow, deliberate. The kind of sound that warned before it killed.

The butcher turned.

And froze.

"You..."

Conish’s face paled to bone-white, the color draining like blood from a punctured throat. His eyes darted to the knife Gail left behind—only inches away—but his fingers didn’t move.

He couldn’t. Aiden had already stepped within range.

[Aura of Allure in range with target ’Conish’]

"Steady..." Aiden voiced.

The air between them tightened like a wire. The butcher’s lips parted, trembling. As he didn’t attack. Following his words. His sudden action confusing himself.

But Aiden didn’t shout. Didn’t accuse.

He stepped forward, slow and fluid, like a dream slipping under the skin.

"No..." Cornish voiced. Swinging his knife but..it was already late. he leaned in, his breath grazing Conish’s ear.

"Sleep."

One word. One command.

Conish’s knees buckled.

His eyes fluttered.

His body collapsed—hard—onto the stone floor, limp as a dropped puppet.

Aiden caught him. Just enough to keep the man’s skull from cracking against the ground. He grunted slightly under the weight, then dragged Conish to a wooden chair near the blood-slicked cutting table.

The scent in the butchery was overwhelming now—raw meat, copper, garlic, sweat, and steel. It clung to Aiden’s throat like guilt.

He rolled up his sleeve.

"Let’s see how useful this is..."

A knife. Not Gail’s this time—his. Slim, razor-edged, designed for precision. He drew it across his finger, watching the blood rise like a slow, red serpent.

Warm. Slick. Living.

He let it drip into Conish’s mouth.

Drop. Drop. Drop.

At first, nothing.

Then—the flicker.

The body twitched.

The eyes rolled under closed lids.

[Charmed Possession > Temporary Possession]

[Target’s Will: Weak | Soul Resistance: Fractured]

Aiden’s pulse spiked.

It worked.

He splashed more blood across the man’s face—marking him. Not violently, but intimately. Like a baptism in reverse.

Conish stirred. A groan rose from his chest, raw and feral. His arms jerked. Legs spasmed. The possession wasn’t elegant—it never was. It looked like birth. Or death.

Then—

Stillness.

He opened his eyes.

And saw Aiden.

Conish reached—automatically—for the knife on the table. Swinging it towards him right away.

But his hand stopped midair. Trembled.... Refused.

Aiden didn’t even blink.

"How are you, Conish?"

The words were soft. Not mocking. Just... sharp.

Like silk pulled tight enough to slice. His golden eyes bore into his own. Like he saw him, not just his face but something inside. The momentum of his heart steared as something moved.

A memory. A memory of Aiden and him which was long forgotten. Then...

The butcher’s throat worked. His eyes filled with tears almost instantly. The knife dropped with a clatter.

His guilt surfaced. The guilt he was suppressing for so long. For the sake to finish his goal. But the goal mattered not. As his emotions overwhelmed him so. Emotions of sanity and Guilt.

"I... I’m sorry..." he whispered. "I didn’t want to..."

Aiden said nothing.

Just stared.

"I...I have a daughter," Conish choked. "Sera. She’s only nine. I thought... the gold would let her study. Get out. Be free. I never—I never wanted you dead, I just..."

He trailed off.

His knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor, his bulk hitting the stone with a dull thud. Like meat.

Aiden moved slowly. He placed a hand on the man’s shoulder—light, gentle.

A butcher’s shoulder. A murderer’s shoulder.

But also... a father’s.

"You didn’t kill me, Conish."

His voice was warm. Too warm. Like the fire in a house that’s already burning down.

"That means you’re not a murderer. That means... there’s still a way back."

Conish sobbed. Quiet, ugly sounds. The kind only a man makes when the lie he built his life on finally caves in.

"I just needed the money..." he repeated, as if it could rewrite the past.

Aiden’s eyes darkened for half a breath—but his face didn’t change.

Inside, something screamed.

And what about what I needed? What about my lungs collapsing under your knife, Conish? What about the blood I choked on while you fed your daughter dreams?

But he didn’t say it.

Because that scream didn’t serve him.

Instead, he asked:

"Are you going to try again?"

Conish shook his head so fast it looked painful.

"Never!" he rasped. Then he yanked something from beneath his apron—a leather pouch—tied with a black cord. He threw it onto the butcher’s table. It spilled open.

Gold.

Too much.

Enough to buy escape. Or silence. Or guilt.

"Take it," he said. "It’s yours. A form of... of my repentance."

The light from the kitchen lantern flickered across the coins, dancing. Mocking. Blood still streaked their edges.

Aiden looked at them—and for a second, it was hard not to grab them.

He wanted to.

For what it meant. For the survival it could buy.

But...

He pushed the pouch away.

Hard. Like it disgusted him.

"Conish," he said, voice firm now. "I don’t want your gold."

He stepped closer, into the man’s shadow.

"I want your help."

Conish blinked, stunned.

"My... help?"

"Yes." Aiden offered his hand—not like a noble, but like a deal being struck in the dark. "Gail isn’t going to stop. He wants me gone. But I’m not leaving."

His tone dropped—barely a whisper.

"I’m going to stay and change this sick system of ours..."

A beat.

"And I’m going to need a butcher who’s loyal."

He held the gaze. Let it tighten like a noose.

"Can I count on you?"

Conish looked up—eyes rimmed red, beard wet, lips trembling.

Then he did something strange.

He nodded. Slowly. Deliberately.

Then he reached up and took Aiden’s hand in both of his.

"Anything," he whispered. "Just say the word." His eyes not leaving Aiden’s gaze.

Aiden nodded once.

He didn’t smile with his mouth. But the gleam in his eyes could have cut through stone.

"Good," he said. "Then let’s talk about the plan. A plan for the good of both of us...for your daughter...for your family....but it will be bad...very bad for him. For Gail."

And he nodded. Without a single hesitation.

Aiden smiled as a notification popped up.

[Temporary possession > Full Possession]