I Tamed The Twin Demons

Chapter 4 — A Name That Isn't Mine B

Marco continued, his voice growing quieter as the meaning became clear. “It was designed to prevent something from leaving.”

Neither demoness spoke for a moment.

Then Davea reached for the notebook, but Marco pulled it away before she could take it.

“Careful,” he said. “I'm beginning to think this is important.”

“Give it to me.”

“Could you ask politely?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Marco.”

“That's closer.”

Devana placed a hand on her sister's arm before the argument could escalate. “Let him finish.”

She turned to Marco.

“In infernal magic, an anchor is a binding mechanism designed to attach a soul or entity to a specific vessel. Depending on the strength of the enchantment, it can prevent the bound presence from escaping even after the vessel dies.”

Marco looked toward the altar. “So the circle wasn't bringing the original owner back to life?”

“Not necessarily,” Devana replied. “It may have been keeping something inside his body.”

Marco remembered the voice that had spoken through the stone.

Move aside, little thief.

His grip tightened around the notebook. “And when the original Marco died?”

“The anchor should have remained intact,” Devana said. “Unless someone deliberately damaged it, or the entity inside the vessel found a way to interfere with the binding.”

Marco glanced at the golden mark on his wrist.

The thin black line dividing the symbol had grown darker since the covenant was sealed.

He wondered whether the entity beneath the altar had been trapped inside the body before his arrival, or whether his presence had somehow created a second occupant where only one had been intended.

The possibilities were equally unpleasant.

But another thought troubled him even more.

The memories he had experienced did not feel like stories he had watched from a distance. He had felt the original Marco's fear, his anger, and his desperate need to escape.

Those emotions had been so vivid that, for a few seconds, Marco had forgotten he was not the man who had experienced them; he looked at the silver ring and the cracked token on the table.

Somewhere in the world, people might have known Marco Veyne. Perhaps he had friends, family, or someone who expected him to return home.

What would they see if he appeared before them?

Would they recognize the face and believe the man they loved had survived?

Or would they eventually discover that the person standing before them was a stranger wearing the remains of someone else's life?

“Do you think his soul is gone?” Marco asked quietly.

Davea frowned. “Whose soul?”

“The original Marco's.”

“The man is dead.”

“That isn't an answer.”

“It is the only answer that matters.”

Marco closed the notebook halfway. “Not to me.”

Davea's irritation sharpened. “You are worrying about a corpse.”

“I'm worrying about a person.”

“He isn't here.”

“You don't know that.”

Davea opened her mouth, but no immediate response emerged. She seemed more offended by Marco's refusal to accept her certainty than by the question itself.

Devana studied him with an expression he had not seen before. Her curiosity remained, but something more thoughtful had entered her gaze.

“Most humans would be grateful for a second life,” she said.

Marco let out a slow breath.

“Most humans probably wouldn't get theirs by waking up inside somebody else's murder scene.”

For a moment, Devana said nothing.

Then she looked away. “Sentiment will not help you survive here.”

“Perhaps not,” Marco replied. “But if I start treating another person's life as a disposable disguise, what exactly am I trying to survive for?”

The question seemed to hang between them longer than he expected.

He did not know whether the original Marco had been a good man or a dangerous one. The notebook suggested that he had investigated forbidden magic, but investigation alone did not prove guilt. Perhaps he had been trying to stop something terrible. Perhaps he had caused the very disaster he feared.

Marco refused to decide without evidence.

If he had inherited the man's body, he had also inherited a responsibility to discover what had happened to its owner.

He opened the notebook again and turned to the final page.

Unlike the others, it contained no code.

A rough drawing covered most of the paper. The artist had sketched two women with silver hair and curved horns, one holding a sword and the other wearing a long robe embroidered with golden symbols.

Davea and Devana.

Marco stared at the picture.

The lines were hurried, and the paper had been stained by a dark smear that might have been blood. Beneath the drawing, the original Marco had written a message in uneven letters.

Marco read it once, then he read it again, hoping that the words would somehow change. He slowly lifted his eyes toward the two demonesses.

Davea was already watching him.

Devana's expression had become unreadable.

Neither woman looked surprised by the accusation, and that frightened Marco more than the message itself.

Because the original Marco had not merely known he was going to die. He had known who would kill him.

And he had known that the people responsible were not the two women standing in front of him.

Marco closed the notebook, feeling the golden covenant mark tighten around his wrist as though something beneath his skin had just awakened.

“Ladies,” he said carefully, “I think we need to have another conversation about who wanted this man dead.”

Davea's hand drifted toward her sword.

Devana looked at the drawing, then at Marco.

For the first time since he had awakened on the altar, neither twin offered an immediate threat or a clever remark.

Their shared silence told him that the mystery surrounding Marco Veyne was far more dangerous than he had imagined.

And somewhere beneath the stone, the second heartbeat began again.