I Tamed The Twin Demons

Chapter 3 — The World's Worst Negotiation

Marco had always believed that meeting his own double would be an unsettling experience. He had imagined awkward introductions, uncomfortable questions about their childhoods, and perhaps a few jokes about who had the better hairstyle.

He had never imagined meeting his double while lying half-dead in a demon's basement, with a sword pointed at his chest and a magical corpse accusing him of breaking a seal.

The stranger standing in the doorway wore Marco's borrowed face, down to the faint scar beneath his left eye. His dark coat hung loosely from his shoulders, and black veins crawled beneath his pale skin like ink spreading through water. Behind him, the darkness seemed to breathe.

“You were supposed to stay dead,” the stranger repeated, staring directly at Marco. “Now you've broken the seal, and it knows where to find us.”

Marco swallowed and glanced at Davea. “Just to clarify, when you said you killed the original owner of this body, you were referring to someone who might have known this man?”

Davea kept her sword trained on the stranger. “I have no intention of answering questions while that thing stands in my doorway.”

“Excellent. I was worried we might accidentally have a productive conversation.”

Devana moved closer to the stranger, studying him with the focused curiosity of a scholar who had just discovered that her most dangerous experiment could talk.

“Your name,” she demanded. “Tell us who you are.”

The stranger turned toward her. “I am the warning you ignored.”

Devana's expression tightened. “That is not a name.”

“It is the only one you deserve.”

Devana made an impatient sound and raised her sword. Crimson energy gathered along its edge, illuminating the black veins in the stranger's neck. “Enough riddles. Whatever you are, you have no right to threaten us.”

She swung.

The blade passed through the stranger's chest without resistance.

A ripple spread across his body, distorting his features like a reflection disturbed by a stone. For a moment, his face stretched into something inhuman, revealing a hollow darkness where his eyes should have been.

Then his features returned to normal, and he looked at Davea with weary disappointment.

“Still relying on violence to solve problems you do not understand,” he said.

Davea's expression became murderous.

Marco raised one hand. “Before anyone tries that again, could we consider the possibility that stabbing a magical hologram won't accomplish anything?”

Both demonesses turned toward him.

Marco hesitated. “I might have used the wrong word, but the principle seems sound.”

Devana ignored him and examined the stranger's outline. Thin threads of light ran through the figure's shoulders, connecting him to the glowing runes around the doorway.

“It's a construct,” she murmured. “A projection created by the circle.”

Davea lowered her sword slightly. “You have seen one before?”

“Not like this.”

Devana circled the figure, searching for the source of the magic. “Infernal memory constructs usually repeat a stored image or message. They do not respond to their surroundings, and they certainly do not hold conversations.”

The stranger followed her movements with his eyes. “You speak as though knowledge makes you safe.”

“No,” Devana replied. “It makes me less likely to die from ignorance.”

“Then you have learned very little.”

Marco watched the exchange carefully. The construct's hostility appeared genuine, but its movements were too precise. Every time the red runes pulsed, the stranger's posture shifted in the same way, and a faint shimmer crossed his face.

Marco remembered the phrase the stranger had repeated You were supposed to stay dead The words sounded less like a spontaneous response and more like a message being triggered. He stepped toward the doorway.

Davea immediately caught his arm. “Where do you think you're going?”

“Nowhere, apparently. You have a very firm policy against allowing people to walk.”

“You will remain where I can see you.”

“That's reassuring. I was concerned you might lose me in this enormous room.”

She tightened her grip.

Marco winced, and Devana glanced over. “Devana, release him. He can barely stand.”

“He was standing perfectly well when he interfered with the circle.”

“He was also nearly electrocuted by it.”

“Then perhaps he should have considered the consequences.”

Marco looked between them. “I'm delighted to discover that your medical philosophy is based on blaming the patient.”

Devana released a quiet laugh before turning back toward the construct.

“Tell us about the Unwritten,” she demanded.

The stranger went completely still.

Marco noticed the change immediately. The construct's expression had remained cold throughout their conversation, but the mention of the Unwritten produced something different.

His jaw tightened, and the black veins along his throat darkened.

“You have heard that name?” Devana asked.

The stranger looked at her. “You should never have learned it.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment you understand what it is, it begins to understand you.”

A chill travelled down Marco's spine.

He had no idea what the Unwritten was, but he was beginning to suspect that ignorance might be the only sensible position.

Davea stepped toward the construct again. “Tell us where it is.”

The stranger's mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You think it is a creature that can be hunted? A demon that can be bound? A spirit that can be threatened into obedience?”

His gaze shifted toward Marco. “The Unwritten is what remains when the world forgets that something ever existed.”

Marco felt an uncomfortable pressure behind his eyes. For one brief moment, he remembered the strange message he had seen inside the containment circle.

He had assumed that the message described his arrival in the body. Now he wondered whether the ritual had been designed to keep something else from entering.

Or to keep something already inside from escaping.

“That's wonderfully vague,” Marco said. “Could you explain it in a way that doesn't sound like the introduction to a particularly unpleasant philosophy lecture?”

The stranger stared at him. “You should not be here.”

“People keep telling me that. Nobody seems interested in explaining how I can leave.”

“Because leaving is no longer your choice.”

Davea raised her sword again. “I have heard enough.”

This time, Marco stepped between her and the construct before she could attack.

It was not a particularly brave decision. His knees were trembling, his chest still hurt, and the demoness could probably turn him into ash with a flick of her wrist. Nevertheless, he had noticed something that mattered.

The construct was fading.

Its outline had become less distinct, and the light running through its shoulders was breaking into tiny sparks. Whatever power sustained it was running out.

If they destroyed it now, they might lose their only source of information.

“Wait,” Marco said. “It might have something useful to tell us.”