The Sin and I rode the cramped elevator down from Amoroth's soaring perch, and soon enough we stood outside again in the cool, cloying rain. As Darius' blood stopped seeping into his ruined shirt and the wound healed, his eyes blackened until the whites disappeared into the inky dark. The wayfarers made their way onto his face before we stepped from Klau's main doors.

Breathing heavily, Darius abruptly stumbled to the roadside and caught himself on a parking meter. People edged from his proximity, muttering to one another as they shot the panting Sin wary glances from the corner of the eyes, and Darius leaned on the parking meter, hand covering the fresh tear in his shirt, though nothing could hide the growing bloodstain. Thankfully, the rain diluted the color, and the palpable disquiet cloaking Darius had most people hurrying about their business without lingering to catch a second glimpse.

The shriek of metal filled the street. My head swung from side to side, strands of my wet hair clinging to my face as I searched for the source of the sound—just as the parking meter under Darius' hand exploded in a wave of shrapnel. A woman screamed and a passing car swerved when the metal pinged off his windshield.

Wide-eyed, I snatched a handful of Darius' jacket and yanked him into motion, urging us both into a steady jog. The parking garage was in the opposite direction, but I was more interested in simply escaping the scene before someone came around asking difficult questions.

I don't know how far we walked. The blocks passed in a haze of uniform storefronts, modern skyscrapers first giving way to shorter high-rises, then to older, heavily retro-fitted buildings crowding the narrower streets. It was difficult to decipher where we were headed in the rain, but as I spotted more domestic stores like groceries and pharmacies with the odd residential building spliced in-between, I figured we were moving west, where the various districts of Verweald melded into one.

The deluge of early evening traffic dwindled as we crossed lanes and byways, striding swiftly from one block to the next until the streets we walked were barren of moving vehicles. Most of the remaining cars were parked along the curbs and the cracked sidewalks were empty but for the occasional Verwealdian hustling by under a raised umbrella. The gutters overflowed with the late summer downpour, water washing over our feet wherever we passed a sloped driveway. My hand was still fisted in the hem of Darius' jacket, but he was the one leading as I trailed behind like a flagging add-on, desperately trying to catch my breath.

It was dark, light only available from the occasional streetlight or illuminated market sign. Beyond the sound of rain, I could hear the plaintive bark of a dog left outside by his owners. The gutters dumped into a nearby culvert, and the smell rising from the rushing water was unsavory, but not horrendous. Quacking aspens dotted the parkway with the rain soughing through the wispy limbs.

From his stiff posture and choleric expression, I gathered Darius would rather be alone, but since he was fully capable of brushing me off if he wished or disappearing in a puff of ashen air, I believed he didn't completely mind my presence—or he had forgotten it entirely. Twenty minutes later, we were sopping wet and far from Klau's industrial court, though the spire remained a looming staple upon the skyline behind us. Darius came to a stop, his head snapping up as though he had heard something I hadn't. He turned from the sidewalk, stomping through a dripping gate to a maintained courtyard.

A church appeared from behind a wall of thorny hedges and shaggy oak trees. The building was dated, the cross on the steeple crooked and the roof's shingles frayed at the edges—but it was evidently crowded, as the interior lights blazed in every window, and now even I could hear the solemn voices of evening vespers risen above the thunder in praise of God and all creation. I couldn't find a sign to tell me what denomination the church was, and the cross was simple, unadorned wood. Darius stopped just beyond the edge of light seeping from the crack beneath the door's threshold, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as he glared at the religious symbol. Uncertain, I remained next to him, wincing at the fresh blisters formed by my uncomfortable shoes.

Seeing as the Sin had come to a halt outside the church doors and stood there as if frozen, I asked, "Can you go inside?"

Darius scoffed as he dropped me a sullen look. "Of course," he said, shaking my hand free of his jacket. "Let go of me."

The Sin didn't make a move for the door. Instead, he stepped from the graveled path to the snarled lawn, and I followed, reaching out to him for balance as I sunk in the sodden vegetation—but Darius knocked the hand aside again. A threatening sound emanated from his throat, not a growl, but something similarly primal and antagonistic. An answering thrill of fear chilled my cold body and forced a shiver from my muscles.

"What?" I asked, trying for nonchalance, though Darius noted the quiver in my voice and the sudden distance I left between us. He muttered something about my being "impossibly short-sighted," but I chose not to comment. "What did I say?"

An iron bench half-buried by the unclipped branches of an arroyo willow tree waited partially hidden from the entrance by another overgrown bush. Darius snapped the branches off with one hand and tossed them aside before sitting on the bench, his feet spread and his fists held between bent knees. I stood a few feet in front of him, shivering in the cold. "No, I won't burst into agonizing flames if I step into a church," Darius seethed. "You'll have to be more creative in figuring out how to kill me."

"Kill you?" I asked, confused.

"Don't feign ignorance. It's insulting." His fists trembled. "You heard what that—foul, incessant she-demon said, and I saw your reaction. You're regretting our association—our contract. Well, I'll bloody tell you it's too late. You don't get to change your mind. You're the same as all the sniveling humans who came before you. They all looked at me like that, with disappointment, and they tried to kill me—."

Taken aback, I blinked. "I don't want to kill you." Where in the world did this come from?

Darius' tirade had risen to an uncomfortable volume when it abruptly cut off, and the Sin's gathered breath spilled out in a steamed rush. "What?"

"I don't want to kill you," I repeated as I crossed my arms with a frown. "Why would I? Because of what Amoroth said?"

Darius hesitated. His fingers uncurled, still stiff, unsure of what to do. One foot rose from the mud to the bench's seat, partially raising Darius into his predatory crouch. "You don't...regret our association?"

Frowning, I allowed my gaze to drift from him and waver over the covered windows of the church and the metal bars of the fence blocking sight of the street. It was quiet here, aside from the sounds of the congregation. Sheltered. Hidden, almost. For half a moment I entertained the idea that Darius had brought me here with the intention of killing me. Amoroth's barbs must have been more cutting to his pride than I'd originally thought.

"For a second," I confessed as I cupped the back of my neck, unwilling to watch Darius' expression cloud with anger. "Who wouldn't? She's a bit...dazzling. I imagined that if I were her host rather than yours, I'd have her money and her influence at the tips of my fingers. It would make life...simple." I filled my lungs with a breath of cool air, half-listening to the sermon inside. "But she's also rather officious, isn't she? I mean, you're overbearing too, Darius, don't misunderstand. But everything about the woman is conniving and snide. I disliked how she taunted you. It made her seem so childish. And, despite her portfolio and the attraction of her influence, I saw you slam her into a wall in two seconds flat." I choked on a laugh. "Our contract isn't about how much money you can waft under my nose. It isn't about prestige. It isn't about appearances or the conflict I sense going on between you and your kin; it's about revenge. It's about killing. It's about placing my very last earthly request in your hands and expecting blood to spill. I don't know what that makes me. I don't want to think about it—but I do know I would rather have you as my Sin than Amoroth, Darius."

He didn't say anything for quite some time. I felt his gaze upon me, but I was content to stare at the dowdy, dripping bits of nature surrounding the unused courtyard. The choir rose from inside again, the words muffled by the pace of the rain. His foot landed in the mud as Darius eased from his crouch. "Sit," Darius said, his brief fit of furious anxiety once more contained beneath the featureless stone of his mask. He slid on the bench to offer more space, and I did as I was told, though I probably sat closer to the Sin than he wanted. Darius threw off generous heat and I was chilled to my core.

"No, Terrestrian religions and rites cannot kill me," Darius said as he rubbed at a splash of blood ruining his jeans. "Not outright, anyway. Men of faith have the capability of harming a Sin, possibly even dealing a death blow, but capability and availability are two different things."

"That's good to know," I replied. When his narrowed eyes flicked in my direction, I added: "If a crazed priest starts chasing after you, I'll know to trip him or something."

The lines about his eyes eased when Darius laughed, the sound a startling contrast to the warning rumble I had heard minutes before. Strange as it was, I guessed Darius was...relieved. Relieved? I wasn't sure what he was relieved by. He'd said I was the same as the other humans who had come before me. Did he mean his other hosts? Had Darius' other hosts grown dissatisfied by the Sin and tried to kill him? If they had, I could muster no sympathy for them. I had shot the man in the heart and he hadn't even flinched. As far as I knew, he was utterly impervious to anything I could sling at him. That any human—even a priest—could deal damage to him was shocking.

"If such a man were capable of harming me, he would be long dead before afforded the opportunity to be tripped by you." The utter seriousness of Darius' words sent another shiver through me. "It does not surprise me that you confuse faith—true faith, that is—as something synonymous with belonging to the clergy. True faith is simultaneously a conscious and subliminal surrender to a power greater than you. Any person is capable of true faith, be they affiliated with a religion or not, though it is rare." Darius shrugged as he leaned into the bench's support. "It's part of the reason we play upon fear, as well. If you were confronted with a hell-bent demon capable of surviving an atomic blast, would you be utterly convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that your God could save you?"

I grimaced. "Even a devout person would have some doubt, let alone me."

Darius gestured with his hand to say "There you have it." He considered me, weighing some unvoiced thought. "Outside of humans, though, the issue becomes...muddled. Those who exist in realms beyond this one have religion and faith...of a sort. They worship Kings, a title of which is more akin to the name 'God' than it is to your terminology of the word. The Kings are physical, actual beings; their believers are for more powerful for it. It's much easier to surrender faith to a tangible person than to an abstract ideal. In Terrestria, mages and witches are capable of true faith as well, though they are typically atheists. I mentioned capability versus availability; a human clergyman may have true faith and thus have the capability of harming me, but he would not recognize what I am, nor would he readily have the knowledge of how to destroy me. He does not have the availability. In contrast, a mage who has true faith in his magic—a higher force existing beyond him—would be able to recognize what I am and be able to act accordingly. Mages are also quite...studious. They belong to a collection of syndicates that share information, educating the mage population in our history, in our names and our faces. Nasty little men. If I ran afoul one mage, I'd suddenly find an entire contingent of them on my tail."

"So, I'm guessing finding one of these true-faith mages to kill Envy is out of the question?"

"Not unless you want to see me crucified right alongside him," Darius muttered, his eye twitching as he considered the idea. "That's if the mage was capable of tracking him down in the first place. And, aside from that, you would find yourself strapped to my pyre, little human. Entering a contract with a Sin is illegal to the extreme in the rest of Terrestrian society. The moment you became my sh—host, you subjected yourself to be judged and tried by their regulations." The barest trace of smirk quirked his mouth. "Keep that in mind if you ever find yourself having a nice afternoon chat with a mage, Sara."

My shoulders rose to warm my red ears, and I could taste ash on my tongue when I licked my chapped lips. I doubted I would ever have the chance to have a conversation with a mage, considering the creature I had looming in my shadow and whispering warnings in my ear—but I understood the hassle a mage discovering my identity could bring. I noted that Darius had called them "nasty little men." Were all mages men? I'd met Saule, a female witch. Were all witches females? Were they the same, only labeled by their sex? Or were they different?

Darius dropped an ankle onto his opposing leg. "I...apologize for my earlier reaction. Amoroth...she—I—." The night grew noticeably cooler as Darius aligned his thoughts and his eyes darkened. "I expected her antagonism and still responded poorly to it. I lack respect for the woman, and to listen to her malign my existence down to my cellular being is beyond infuriating. I only went to her for information because she's the only Sin within our reach knowledgeable in such things, and she is not likely to go to Balthier without further provocation. Envy's not above killing the messenger, as it were. Amoroth knows this—but she also knows if Balthier discovers our transgressions and learns she knew of them, he'll still kill her. He'll undoubtedly kill us all in the end, but we live hopeful—hopeful, afraid, and wretched. Balanced upon the edge of a blade." He ran a hand through his drenched hair. "But I digress. Amoroth loathes me. I loathe her. She was responsible for my...punishment."

"Punishment?" My gaze lifted to the Sin's shoulder, my mind finding the image of the scar on his back, the crooked letters painted black and red by fire and blood. "She did that to you?!"

"King's breath—no. I would rip her head from her shoulders before allowing Amoroth to lay a hand on me. No, it wasn't her. I do not need to enlighten you completely about what transpired, but I will tell you this; I made a mistake. I made a mistake in a quest to weaken Balthier, and I provoked both he and Amoroth. The latter, being a cut-throat, insufferable survivalist of a woman, took offense at my actions and tattled—," Darius sneered. "—to the one person capable of restraining a being such as I; she reported my crimes to the Baal, and I was held at his mercy for thirty years. The scar on my back was reapplied until my skin relented. You could say it has become part of my being now."

Thirty years?! He was a prisoner for thirty years because of Amoroth?! And what's this about him antagonizing Balthier in the past?! "What did you do?"

He pursed his lips, unwilling to say more. I didn't needle him, though the temptation was there, curious and demanding as ever. I knew so little about Darius. I was again struck by my unfamiliarity with the sulfurous creature who had become a fixture in my new, exceedingly more dangerous and apparently limited life. I figured I was entitled to be a little stupid, to place a little trust in the wild, brimstone-biting thing sitting so casually on the bench next to me. So he had pissed off Amoroth in the past. I smirked as I thought it probably didn't take much to aggravate the woman, but the expression fell when I again remembered the scar on Darius' back.

Thirty years imprisoned, and I didn't believe for a second that it had all been spent in some dank cell alone. He'd been tortured by the Baal. For thirty years. My eyes flickered over the Sin, landing on his mercurial eyes. How was he not stark, raving mad?

"You said something about a quest to weaken Bal—Envy. What were you doing?"

"I was killing his hosts before he could assimilate their energy."

I gawked. "W-what?"

My baffled tone was unmistakable as I questioned Darius' sanity. My God, had Darius already played this cat and mouse game with Balthier before? The Sin of Envy wouldn't tolerate Darius' disrespect. I didn't have to know Balthier personally to understand that.

"As I said." Darius leaned on his knees, his face partially shadowed by a raised hand. "You can imagine how well that turned out."

"You wanted to kill him?"

"I've said as much before. Do not ask me to repeat myself. I made it quite clear killing him is something I desire, but was unable to achieve." He sniffed as he bared his teeth. "The rest of what transpired is none of your business. It's mine."

"You could tell me if you liked," I retorted, miffed by his stiff demeanor.

"I don't want to." His teeth clicked audibly. The Sin's mood shifted from relief to harangued annoyance. "Just let it be said Envy repaid my antics, as he called it, in spades. I spent thirty years with the Baal, I have gone ten years since then without securing a host. Envy always seems to know when I am about to find one, and he jerks them out from under me like a proverbial rug." His single visible eye narrowed in my direction. "Until you, of course. The host I stole from him, the woman in his blind-spot."

Darius' slipped comments concerning his starvation were clear now. He had gone forty years without taking a host—presumably without claiming any energy to fuel his demonic existence. He had survived thirty years at the hands of a tormentor, and ten years dodging Balthier's retribution. I was impressed Darius had any patience left for my contract or my needling questions.

"I was...I am....quite troubled by this, though," Darius intoned, gaze moving toward the invisible street. His soft words almost went unheard in the hushed whisper of rainfall, which was unlike him. Darius didn't yell or shout to make himself heard, but he typically spoke with clear annunciation as though speaking to a particularly dense person, articulating his words with sarcastic aplomb. Hearing his voice dip in such a way was...odd. "The killing of hosts and the consequential isolation from Terrestria are...trademarks of his. It is how he begins his hunts." Tiny snowflakes dusted our shoulders and hair as they formed from the falling rain above our bench. It was late August in southern California, and it was snowing in a church's courtyard as Darius brooded his little black heart away. "But if he wishes to hunt me like a dog, I will not submit. I would not submit to the Baal—Kings above only know why I followed him through the Rending. We can't remember, you see. When we fallen Absolians were remade, we remembered nothing of the winged terrors we used to be—but I know I would not have submitted to such a beast. Just as I will not submit to Balthier. I am too old and too fucking tired to roll over and die