Chapter 133: Chapter 133 – Demonic Mist

The purple chain rattled between them like a cursed joke as Viktor moved toward where their half-dried clothes lay scattered near the dying embers of the makeshift heater.

Kaida yanked her arm back reflexively, and the chain snapped taut, jerking Viktor’s wrist so hard he stumbled. “Stop pulling, you crazy—”

“Then stop ’moving’, asshole!”

Bella watched from the side, her golden eyes tracking every frustrated tug of war. The chain glowed faintly in the dim cave, pulsing like a heartbeat that connected them whether they wanted it or not.

Viktor grabbed his torn shirt with his free hand, shaking his head. “We need to get dressed and get out of here. That fog outside? It’s not normal.”

Kaida scoffed, snatching her own top from the stone floor. The fabric was still damp but better than nothing. “What ’is’ normal with you? Demon tails? Marriage chains? Accidentally shoving your—”

“’Accident.’”

“I ’will’ cut it off.”

Viktor’s tail swished defensively behind him as he pulled on his pants with one hand—awkward as hell with Kaida chained to his other wrist. Every movement she made, he felt. Every step she took, he had to compensate.

Kaida turned her back to him, holding her top up to her chest. Her scarred shoulders flexed as she tried to maneuver the fabric over her head one-handed. The chain clinked with every motion, a constant metallic reminder of their bind.

Viktor, despite his best intentions, glanced over.

She was struggling with the neckline, her arms raised, the curve of her back muscles rippling as she twisted. The top was halfway on—one breast still exposed, pale and firm, the pink nipple hardened from the cold air.

Her left nipple poked out prominently against the damp fabric where she’d managed to pull it over, the shape clearly visible through the thin material. But the right side—the right was still bare, the nipple curved slightly inward, hiding like it was shy, a delicate inversion that made the contrast even more striking.

Viktor’s gaze locked on it for half a second too long.

“What are you looking at?”

His eyes snapped up to find Kaida glaring at him over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised, her red eyes narrowed dangerously.

Viktor shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he struck her shoulder lightly with his free hand. “Can’t I?”

Kaida’s face flushed red, but before she could explode, his black eyes dropped back down—blatantly, shamelessly—settling right on her exposed chest as she fumbled to pull the fabric over.

“You—!” She jerked the top down with a violent tug, the hem catching awkwardly. The movement made her right nipple slip out for a second before she covered it, leaving the left one still poking visibly through the fabric like a little tent.

The chain between them rattled as her wrist moved, the metal links clinking against each other with every adjustment.

Viktor tilted his head, his expression deadpan. “You know, it’s not even uncomfortable that only one nipple is out.”

Kaida’s eye twitched.

Her fist swung before her brain caught up.

Viktor ducked, his reflexes sharp, the punch whistling past his ear. “Whoa—!”

“I will kill you one day, bastard,” Kaida hissed, her voice trembling with barely restrained fury. The chain swung between them as she steadied herself, breathing hard.

Viktor straightened, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Get in line.”

Bella, now fully dressed in the tunic Mira had stitched for her, stepped forward hesitantly. Her silver tail swished nervously behind her, ears flat against her head. “Um… Sir Viktor? Miss Kaida? Should we… go now?”

Viktor nodded, his gaze shifting toward the dark passage ahead where the fog had started creeping in—thick, unnatural, black as oil.

“Let’s do some work,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

He took a step toward the fog.

And stopped.

His entire body went rigid, every muscle locking up like he’d hit an invisible wall. His eyes narrowed, scanning the swirling darkness ahead.

Behind him, Kaida frowned. “What—?”

Viktor’s hand shot out, grabbing the chain and yanking Kaida backward just as she took a step forward.

“Hey—!”

She stumbled, her body crashing into his chest, the impact knocking the air out of both of them. Her back hit his torso hard, her hips slamming into his as the momentum carried them both backward.

Viktor’s arms instinctively wrapped around her waist to steady them, one hand pressed flat against her stomach. The chain rattled violently between them, tangled now around their arms.

Kaida’s first thought was immediate and furious.

’’This perverted bastard—again?!’’

She twisted in his grip, ready to elbow him in the ribs, her mouth opening to scream—

“It’s Demonic Mist.”

The words came out low, serious, devoid of his usual teasing tone.

Kaida froze mid-twist. “…What?”

Viktor’s arms stayed locked around her, his breath warm against the back of her neck as he stared at the fog over her shoulder. “That fog. It’s Demonic Mist.”

The name hung in the air like a death sentence.

Bella gasped audibly, her entire body going rigid. Her golden eyes widened, pupils dilating as her ears flattened completely against her skull. Her tail puffed up, trembling.

“D-Demonic… Mist…?!” Her voice cracked, barely above a whisper.

Kaida’s jaw clenched. She pulled away from Viktor—or tried to—but the chain kept them close. Her red eyes flicked between him and the fog. “Demonic Mist? You mean the—”

“The corruption fog,” Viktor finished grimly. “Yeah. That one.”

Demonic Mist wasn’t just a natural phenomenon—it was a scar.

A wound left behind from the wars between Eldoria and the Demon Kingdoms centuries ago, when the world was younger and bloodier.

When the first Demon King tried to march his armies across the borders into human lands, the founding Emperor of Eldoria—Emperor Aldric the Unbroken—had led a coalition of mages, knights, and heroes to drive them back.

The battle lasted forty days and forty nights. Tens of thousands died on both sides. The land itself screamed.

In desperation, the Demon King unleashed a forbidden ritual—a curse that would corrupt the very air itself, turning any living thing that touched it into a mindless demon-spawn.

Not true demons, but ’monsters’—twisted, corrupted versions of themselves, driven only by hunger and rage.

The ritual backfired.

The mist consumed the Demon King’s own lower forces first, turning half his army into the very monsters he’d tried to create.

The human forces retreated, and when the dust settled, a permanent wall of black fog stretched across the border between Eldoria and the Demon Kingdoms.

It became known as the ’’Veil of Damnation.’’

Anyone who entered the mist—human, beast-kin, or even lower demon—would be corrupted within minutes. Their minds would fracture. Their bodies would warp. They would become ’husks’, mindless and violent, attacking anything that moved.

Over the centuries, the Royal Family of Eldoria fortified the borders, building massive walls and watchtowers to keep people away from the mist.

They stationed entire legions of soldiers at the frontier—not to fight demons, but to kill anyone stupid or desperate enough to try crossing through the fog.

Because once you entered the Demonic Mist, you didn’t come back.

Not as yourself, anyway.

And if you did come back, the Royal Family had standing orders: ’Kill on sight.’

No trials. No mercy. No second chances.

Because corruption didn’t discriminate. It didn’t care if you were a knight, a merchant, or a child. Once the mist touched you, you were no longer human.

Beast-kin were especially vulnerable. Their heightened senses made the corruption spread faster, twisting their animal instincts into feral madness.

Entire beast-kin clans had been wiped out near the borders—sometimes by the mist, sometimes by the Royal Family’s purges, afraid the corruption had spread.

Fear bred cruelty.

And cruelty bred more fear.

Atleast this was a narrative excuse that nobility presented for their war crimes.

’…Bastards…’

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