Memo 04: Acquired! demon bodyguard.

Yuranu sat lazily on top of the cage, legs sprouting where none had been before, bare feet wiggling each toe as if she were perched on some comfortable fencepost instead of a prison. Her tail was still coiled tight around Nateas’ mouth, a slick cord silencing him with every struggling breath. The captive shifted and gagged against the scales, eyes rolling with disdain. He jerked his head violently to the side and retched, the motion sloppy and desperate, bile pushing against the tail that bound him.

“Ughhh—don’t you dare throw up on me,” Yuranu hissed, shaking him once like a misbehaving animal on a leash. She leaned down, strands of her hair dangling through the bars. “Pathetic. You think that’ll free you?”

Nagisa, standing nearby, folded her arms. Her eyes glimmered, unreadable, as if she were weighing whether to step in. But Yuranu didn’t want to talk about Nateas. Her tail loosened only slightly, enough to keep him muffled but not choking. She looked at Nagisa with restless curiosity. “Hey… what are you, anyway?” she asked suddenly, tilting her head. Her voice softened into something childlike, curious, yet edged with suspicion. “I’ve never seen anything like you in all of Veylstra. Not in the cities, not in the wild places either. You’re not like me, not like him—” she nudged Nateas with her foot “—and not like the others.”

I’m human. Flesh. Blood. A human who wants to unearth all the truths imaginable. Every shadow, every secret, every hidden cruelty." Yuranu tilted her head, puzzled. The word human carried no weight in her mind, no memory of stories or sightings. It was alien. 

Her breath slowed, eyes fluttering. She glanced at her cut, her hand trembling as it pressed against it. The blood loss dragged her downward like an anchor, and before she could finish her sentence, her body gave out. She slumped onto the floor with a dull thud. “I’ve been shot in the head before,” she whispered as the last of her strength slipped away. Camera and memo shout out for their boss. "Boss? BOSS." 

Yuranu blinked, tail slackening around Nateas’s mouth. “Shot… in the head?” she echoed, her words laced with disbelief. Her slit-pupiled eyes widened, studying the unconscious girl as though she were some strange relic dug up from a forgotten age.

“No one survives that,” Yuranu muttered. “Not even the marked tribes of the scales. Not even… us.” Her voice dipped low, more to herself than anyone else. She crawled closer on her newly sprouted legs, fascinated, Nateas still held in her tail. “What are you really, little human? What kind of creature bleeds like us but talks of dying and still breathes?”

Nagisa’s eyes flickered open to the sound of muffled voices. The world was hazy—shadows moving above her, lantern light painting the ceiling of a cramped room. When her vision cleared, she saw them: Memo and Camera, perched on the edge of the bed, leaning too close as always.

“You’re awake,” Memo said flatly, though his wide smile betrayed his relief. “Don’t move too fast!” Memo’s small voice chirped from her shoulder, little hands pushing against Nagisa’s cheek as if that could keep her still.

Camera leaned in closer, his grin warm and curious. “You scared us. Passing out in front of strangers like that—are you trying to give us gray hair?” "Loss of blood. Yuranu carried you this far before disappearing again.”

Nagisa blinked, registering the dull throb in her side. She looked down: her wound was tightly bandaged, the linen faintly stained with red. Her body felt heavy, drained, but not broken. Nagisa pushed herself up on one elbow, wincing at the stiffness. Her eyes darted around the dim room. The wooden walls. The chipped basin of water by her bedside. No cages. No Yuranu. No Nateas.

Her voice cracked. “The girls in the cage… what happened to them?” Memo and Camera exchanged a look before Memo answered softly. “They’re safe. Yuranu… let them go. She carried you out too.”

 Someone—one of them—had taken care of her. 

Nagisa’s brow furrowed. “And Nateas?”

Camera’s mechanical lens narrowed. “Still bound. She wouldn’t risk cutting him loose. He’s dangerous with words alone.” Nagisa’s hand drifted to the bandage at her side, fingers trembling. Her body remembered the pain, the fading memory of Yuranu’s serpentine form and Nateas’ muffled threats.

“Good,”

 she muttered, voice harder than she meant it to be. “He stays that way. Until I decide what’s next.”

Memo tilted his head. “What is next? Are you… actually planning to keep him?”

Nagisa leaned back against the pillow, her eyes heavy but her resolve sharp. “He’s going to serve me. He’s too twisted to be free, and too cunning to die quickly. If he wants power so badly…” She clenched her fist. “…then he’ll learn what it means to have none. Nateas will be my slave.”

Camera’s gears clicked uneasily, his lens focusing and refocusing. “That’s a dangerous game, Nagisa. He’s not like anyone you’ve fought before.” Nagisa closed her eyes, faint traces of a bitter smile touching her lips. “Neither am I." The room fell into silence, the creak of the inn settling around them. Outside, a horse’s hooves clopped past, the sound fading into the street.

The door creaked open.

“Hey—you’re awake.”

Yuranu stepped in casually, her tail coiled loosely around her waist, flicking with idle amusement.

Nagisa blinked hard, still piecing together the fragments. “Where’s Nateas?” Without a word, Yuranu crossed the room and unlatched the closet door. It swung open slowly. There he was. Nateas, bound by multiple layers of thick restraints, gag stuffed deep in his mouth. His eyes narrowed in bitter fury, his muffled protests rattling from behind the gag.

“Found a better use for him,” Yuranu said with a sly smile. “Kept him nice and tucked away while you were napping. He’s dangerous—can’t let him get a single word in..”

Nagisa’s eyes locked onto him. The man who had mocked her, sneered at her weakness, relished in his cruelty. The thought from before returned—sharper now. Slave. Not just restrained… but owned.She whispered almost to herself, 

“I want him to be mine.”

Yuranu tilted her head, intrigued. “Your slave?” Her lips curled into a grin. “Not what I expected from you, human. You’ve got more bite than I thought.”

Nateas thrashed against his bindings, the wood of the chair creaking beneath him. His muffled growl filled the air, eyes burning with hatred.

Nagisa stepped closer, her shadow falling over him. She bent down, her lips near his ear. “You’ll pay me back… with servitude. You’ll guard me, fight for me, suffer for me. That’s the price for what you did.” His eyes widened in disbelief, then narrowed to slits. The humiliation burned hotter than the ropes cutting his wrists.

“Good,” Yuranu said, clapping her hands once. “You’ve already got the right attitude.” She tapped her claw against the window, where daylight was spilling in. “But first things first. We should go visit the Spellman while the sun’s still high. Don’t want to stumble into his quarters after dark.” Nagisa glanced back at her, still hovering close to Nateas, who glared up at her with murderous hatred.

Yuranu’s tail flicked with a sense of purpose as she walked ahead, leading Nagisa deeper into the twisting lanes of the city. The inn’s lively noises soon faded, replaced by the faint drip of water and the echo of their footsteps against stone. The air grew cooler, heavier, and damp as the streets opened into a shadowed cavern tucked beneath the city’s foundations.

“This way,” Yuranu whispered, brushing aside a curtain of moss and sliding into a passage dimly lit by faint blue fungi clinging to the walls. “The Spellman doesn’t keep shop aboveground. His work isn’t the kind nobles or priests like to advertise.”

Nagisa followed, clutching at her bandaged side, her mind restless. She glanced back once at Nateas—gagged, his wrists bound, eyes flickering with fury and fear—as Yuranu tugged him along like luggage.

Nagisa’s voice cut the silence. “So… what exactly is the Spellman going to do for this contract?” Yuranu half-turned, her grin sharp in the gloom. “Bind him. Seal his words. Make sure he can’t disobey. A vocal mahouist is useless once his voice is chained. With a proper slave brand, he’ll belong to you. His magic, his body, his loyalty—all knotted together in one oath. Break it, and it breaks him.”

The path sloped downward, into the belly of the cavern. Torches flickered ahead, and the murmur of arcane chanting spilled through the cracks of an iron door.

Yuranu’s claws tapped against the rusted surface before pushing it open. Inside, the cavern was carved into a strange workshop—stone walls covered with runes, chains dangling from the ceiling, candles burning with unnatural green flames. A figure hunched over a desk looked up at their approach. His face was hidden under a veil of stitched leather, his eyes glowing faintly from behind the seams.

“The Spellman…” Yuranu said with mock reverence, her voice echoing. “We’ve brought you a soul to bind.” Nagisa shivered. The Spellman’s voice came out ragged. 

“A slave pact, is it?” He rose slowly, joints creaking like wood under strain. “The price is not coin, girl. The price is weight. Will you bear the chain as much as he?”

Nagisa tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as she studied the Spellman. The cavernous back alley reeked of wet stone and candle smoke, a hidden place where voices echoed as if they belonged to ghosts.

The Spellman himself looked like he’d been grown out of the cavern walls—long robes stitched with sigils, his hands gnarled but steady, his eyes gleaming behind round spectacles that flashed whenever the firelight struck them.

“My profession?” he repeated, his voice smooth, though tired like someone who had spent too many years whispering to shadows. “I am a Binding Mahouist. My craft… is the art of weaving one essence to another. Chains of spirit, chains of oath, chains of flesh.”

Nagisa frowned. “Chains?”

“Yes.” The Spellman raised his crooked finger, drawing a glowing rune in the air. It hovered like smoke, twisting into the shape of two overlapping circles. “I can bind anything, or anyone… if they are compatible. But here is the limit of my gift: two things that reject one another, like water and oil, will remain apart no matter how strong my spell. A body resists poison. Fire devours paper. A slave who despises their master will eventually burn the contract from within.”

His rune cracked apart and dissolved into dust.

“You can’t force something that doesn’t work… to work,” he finished, his voice carrying a sharpness that made Yuranu’s tail twitch.

Nagisa crossed her arms, her wound throbbing under the bandages as her expression hardened. “So… if I want Nateas to be my slave… if I want him bound to me… then it only works if he and I are… what? Compatible?”The Spellman inclined his head. 

“Precisely. 

His soul must accept yours, and yours his. If the chain pulls only one way, it will snap.”

Nagisa glanced toward Yuranu, then to the side, where Nateas sat bound in gagged silence. His red eyes glared through strands of messy hair, defiant even in restraint. Her lips curled in a half-smile. “Then I’ll make him compatible.”

Yuranu raised a brow. “And how do you expect to do that? He’s a vocal mahouist. The only reason he hasn’t unraveled us with a single chant is because he’s tied up tighter than a hog for slaughter.”

Nagisa walked over to the restrained demon, kneeling so her face was level with his. “That’s the thing about truths,” she whispered, brushing her hair back. “you dont stumble upon them…you uncover.” The Spellman chuckled dryly, stepping back into the shadows. “Bold words, But remember… I can only bind what fits. If you attempt to chain the sun to the moon, you’ll end up burned in the light, or frozen in the dark.”

Nagisa smirked at him, defiance gleaming in her eyes despite her wound. “Then I’ll be both.”

Nagisa raised Camera carefully, her fingers trembling slightly as she aimed it toward Nateas. The faint shimmer of his aura appeared through the lens—the truth made visible. Her voice came out low, almost like a confession whispered into the device:

 “What should I do to make him my slave?”

 The shutter clicked.

The photo slid out, the paper curling as it developed instantly. When Nagisa picked it up, her breath caught. Turning blue.....

“His pride must be broken. A vocal mahouist cannot serve willingly. Silence him, then bind him. Only when his voice yields will his will follow.”

Nateas thrashed in his restraints as though he knew what truth had been unearthed. His muffled growls through the gag turned frantic, his eyes blazing with defiance.

The Spellman tilted his head, intrigued. “Fascinating. Your little device exposes the path, not just the truth. A rare affinity indeed. It seems his magic and your ambition are already at odds.”

Yuranu crossed his arms, leaning against the cavern wall. “So… it’s not just about chaining him. You’ll have to shatter him first. Otherwise, the contract won’t take hold.”

Nagisa’s hand trembled as she clutched Nateas by the collar, dragging him across the stone floor toward the Spellman. The cavern walls hummed with strange sigils, glowing faintly in the dark alley beneath the city. Memo clung to her shoulder, whispering nervously, while Camera hovered in silence, its lens watching the scene unfold.

Her voice cracked but carried determination: “A reporter has to do anything… anything… for the truth.”

She pulled the gag from Nateas’s mouth, his eyes wide and his voice about to spill into the chamber—some curse, some plea, some refusal. But before he could utter a word, Nagisa leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Nateas froze, stunned, his muffled protest dying in his throat. The kiss deepened, Nagisa’s tongue pushing into his mouth, and yuranus face turned crimson. His wrists flexed against the ropes, but the moment stretched, his breath stolen by her insistence.

The Spellman’s lantern flared, and the runes across the cavern floor pulsed with a heartbeat rhythm. His voice rumbled low: “Yes… that will do. Affinity revealed. The binding begins."

Chains of faint golden light spilled from his hands, snaking toward the two of them. The cavern trembled faintly as the spell’s energy sought resonance between Nagisa’s fierce will and Nateas’s restrained defiance. Nateas pulled back from the kiss, panting, eyes filled with confusion and anger. “W-What the hell are you doing—!?”

The Spellman raised his palm, silencing him with the weight of the binding magic. “Your soul is already answering hers. The contract will form. Whether you rage or relent, it has begun.”

Nagisa’s hands shook against his face, but her eyes burned with conviction. “Nateas… from now on, you’ll be my slave. My story won’t be stolen—because you’ll belong to me.”

The golden chains began tightening.

“It is done,” he declared, his voice final. “From this moment, Nateas’s will bends to yours. His body, his strength, his tongue — all of it obeys the master of the contract. Yet…” his eyes narrowed, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “…the chains are not unbreakable. There exists but one release: a true kiss. One born not of dominance nor duty, but of two souls meeting equally. If such a kiss is given — freely by both — the contract will shatter.” The shimmer condensed, burning itself into Nateas’s chest like an invisible seal, then disappearing beneath his skin. He gasped sharply, his eyes glazed with a mixture of panic and despair.

Yuranu’s tail swayed lazily, her smile both mocking and approving. “Then the contract is sealed. A slave bound by the kiss of a reporter. Deliciously scandalous, don’t you think?”

Nateas staggered back the second the Spellman’s ritual circle flared, the air tightening around his chest like invisible chains. His crimson eyes widened, fury flashing inside them as he strained against the pull.

“My kind—” he spat, his voice low and growling, “—cannot be held down by anyone! Least of all a meddling human girl!” “I’ll never be anyone’s slave. Not yours. Not anyone’s.”

Nagisa, clutching the photo in one hand and wiping her lips with the other, locked eyes with him. Her heart was pounding, but she forced her voice steady.

“Sit.”

It wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t begged. It was delivered like a command already carved into stone. Immediately, Nateas’ knees buckled. He crashed onto the cavern floor with a thud, his body pinned down by the invisible weight of the binding. His claws dug into the dirt, his teeth bared, but he couldn’t rise. 

Nagisa crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her hand, studying him like a story she’d uncovered. “You’ll never be anyone’s slave, hmm? Then prove it.” She raised her hand, dainty and mocking. “Kiss my hand.”

His face flushed red, veins straining against the command, but slowly—agonizingly—his lips descended toward her knuckles. Nagisa laughed, a delighted, cruel little trill. “Good boy. Now…” She tapped her shoulder with a finger. “Massage my shoulders. A reporter has to chase every lead, you know… and this one says I can make even the mighty kneel.” The Spellman watched from the shadows, silent but smiling faintly. Yuranu coiled her tail smugly, her golden eyes glinting with satisfaction. The contract had sealed, and the truth of its power could not be denied.