“HONESTLY, ABADDON,” FANCY CHIDED, SHAKING HER HEAD, “DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU WERE SOME ‘ALTERNATE PERSONALITY?’”

Abaddon was trembling, cold sweat pouring down his neck. He suddenly remembered everything. He wanted to run, but he knew there was no escaping her.

Andrea’s wails reached a climax, her painted fingernails tearing into her hair and tears streaming down her cheeks. Fancy sniffed, glaring down at her.

“Silence, child. I have no more use for you,” Fancy murmured, raising her hand.

The fabric of Fancy’s dress ripped as a mass emerged from a gash on her back, a tentacle ridden with twitching eyeballs and pulsing flesh. It sunk through Andrea’s chest with ease, Abaddon flinching as blood splattered across his face.

“You…” Abaddon fought to find his words, “A being like you has no purpose here! You're merely killing flies! This is all below you!”

Fancy simply smiled, straightening her shoulders as the tentacle returned into her body, now dripping with blood.

Abaddon took a step forward, the room starting to spin. Numerous glassy eyes stared back at him, the very eyes that had driven Alzar to the brink of madness.

“These children…” Abaddon said slowly, “They're dead too, right?”

Fancy inspected her fingernails, cutting her eyes up at Abaddon. Despite Abaddon’s accusation, she showed no emotion. “Ah, now I remember why I liked you, Abaddon. You were smart.”

Fancy snapped her fingers, cocking her head to the side.

Abaddon almost vomited.

Fleshy, shriveled masses tore from the bodies of the students, their bodies lifelessly falling to the gym floor with a sickening thud. The creatures scurried across the floor like insects, but Abaddon knew they weren't alive. They were extensions of Fancy, strings to control a puppet. Fancy lifted the hem of her dress, allowing them to retreat back inside of her.

“I do detest doing this, but I had to create an optimal environment for Alzar. I'm afraid it had to be done,” she said causally, false remorse in her voice.

“Why are you tormenting him?” Abaddon growled, the overwhelming stench of rotten flesh hitting his nose all at once.

Fancy turned her back, the gaping tear in her back still visible, a stark warning to Abaddon. “I'm tired of speaking to a demon.”

At her words, a shock passed through Abaddon’s system, dragging his vision into darkness.