if i go.

asmo gets the shit kicked out of him but a demon doesn't come, something else. Not dark and twisted and filled with smoke, but silent like a fog rolling in off the sea. Asmo thinks of Hector, his hands intertwined. Watching Hector breathe in and out and trace the constellation of freckles on his arm like they might guide him home when he sails back to Tycheros. He thinks of Avarice, with the meadow flowers in her hair, how they hadn't even wilted when they laid her in the backyard. He thinks of Belphegor, fire and raging oil and how he would still take a bullet for him. He even thinks of Bertram and the rich laughter of the bar. He thinks of the three of them around an old oak table, ale foaming slightly and their raucous laughter fills the empty hostel.

"I'm not ready." He says, and he doesn't expect an answer. _"No one ever is."_ And the voice is steady when Asmo isn't. "Don't." He says it, but the words don't come out - just blood bubbling on his lips. He thinks of Avarice, alone in her graveyard and how nobody will ever come and see her, now that he's gone. And how nobody will see him, his body will just drift off to the sea. "I'm not ready." He says again, this time firmly. When he wakes up, oh stars, he wakes up and there’s a tightness in his chest, a sharpness in spines. His eyes in the mirror are darker than before, a starless, moonless night but it’s nothing - his tycherosi heritage only speaks louder. Cheekbones just sunken, a bit thinner. If he had stayed around long enough, he would have thought himself a skeleton. But instead, he throws on the coat and leaves the tiny house he rents without bothering to wonder how he got there.

He finds Hector walking somewhere, anywhere and he pounces, one arm having already snaked itself around his waist - spinning him around before Hect can even swear and he’s kissing him. He backs Hector into a wall, feeling Hector drop his bag at their feet and weaving his fingers into his hair as they continue to try and steal each other’s breath away. He pulls away when he sees the phantom in the mirror behind Hector’s head, distorted by the window glass.

--

He spends the night at Hector’s and rolls out of bed when the moonlight drifts into the room. In the bathroom, asmo finds himself staring into the face of death. It’s a skull, much like the stories but rather than bone, it’s iridescent metals and gems that reflect and shine. Empty eye sockets stare back at Asmo through the bathroom mirror. ‘What do you want?” He croaks in a hushed whisper - he doesn't want to wake Hect up. “You weren’t ready. Here’s a second chance.” It sounds like the rumbling of thunder, and Asmo shivers. He nearly vomits when a name appears in the mirror as though someone has breathing on it and then signed it with a finger. “Viktor Casumandi.”

He’s still shaking when he climbs back into Hector’s bed and he buries himself into the crook of Hector’s shoulder.

--

He knows the name Viktor Casumandi. He owned a small shop that was filled with glass antiques. He goes to ask Viktor about the gem-encrusted figure of Death that seems to be haunting him. When he opens the door, a small bell chimes and the old Iruvian man is there in the back, working on his papers. The moment he gets closer, the shop shakes slightly. The floorboards creak and the shelf that Asmo was leaning on collapses. Viktor didn’t even have a chance to look up when his antiques collapse on them. Asmo throws up then.

He’s washing his shaking hands in the old man’s bathroom when that gem-covered bastard appears in the mirror, watching with no emotion as Asmo drinks and drinks as his hands shake. He’s a bloody merc, he’s killed tons before but something was wrong, he’s wrong. “What happened to me?” He asks, and he doesn’t see his reflection in the mirror. “Death needs a witness, death needs to happen. You lived, others have to die. It’s the nature of things.” It speaks, it’s teeth covered in gems clicking together that remind Asmo of water droplets falling onto windows in the rain.

“So - what am I? What do I? I don’t understand.” Asmo asks. “Go to the names, let it happen.”

---

Asmo goes to the names. Andromeda Ketamine. She burns. Karamine Ikiss. She falls. He witnesses. He loses himself in the in between times with drinking. The more he watches, the more things lose their taste. It takes more ciders and ales before he feels anything, tastes anything other than ash. He has Hector though, he devours Hector and when Hector isn’t there, he feels like he isn’t anywhere either. Seven days, he counted them down. And although Betram is fine company, he’s more of Hector’s friend than his own. Seven days. Nil Hirsine. He chokes.

He’s thinking about Tim Jenkins, he drowned when he sees Hector and practically sweeps him off his feet. He drinks up Hector like a dehydrated man in the desert drinks water. Hector who never fails to taste like seasalt taffy. He feels guilty, because some days he doesn’t even feel human but Asmodeus Kokinos is aī selfish man.

--

He wakes up and goes to the mirror and finds he tastes bile. He hadn’t thrown up since the first one. Hector O’Conner stares back at him. The name has always made his heart weak, but this time it’s for all the wrong reasons. “I won’t do it.” Asmo answers.

‘You will.” The voice answers simply.

“No. Not this one.” He answers, and he tastes rage - red hot.

“He must die. That is the nature. You asked for life, and this is the price.”

His fist hits the glass and the crystalline face fractures. When Hector wakes up, every window is broken, every mirror shattered - and Asmo is in the kitchen cooking. There is a towel filled with blood and shards of glass but Asmo’s hands aren’t clean yet. They are shaking too.

“What the hell happened?” Hector asks and he finds Asmo embracing him again. “Nothin, χρυσό μου. Nothin worth explaining.” Asmo tries not to hold on for too long and pulls back, allowing Hector to sit at the kitchen table. In the fractured shards of window, Asmo can see just a hint of Death lingering. But not in this home, and not this one. Asmo defied death once, he’ll do it again.