Hatred

Ylfa couldn’t move. She sat frozen on the cobblestones, heart hammering in her chest, as the street around her erupted into chaos. Citizens screamed and scattered, overturning carts and trampling produce underfoot, all fleeing from the wolf-girl whose ears and tail betrayed her true form.

But not everyone ran.

A handful of men snatched up pitchforks, while armored knights came sprinting down the street with spears and swords. In moments, Ylfa and Jere were encircled - steel glinting, voices raised in fear.

One knight pointed his weapon at Ylfa but called out to Jere instead.
“Young man, run! It’s a demon!”

Jere’s eyes narrowed, processors flaring with a storm of calculations. Three options compiled instantly:

Abandon Ylfa, escape, and continue life undisturbed - while risking the city’s destruction if she lost control.

Reveal his true nature and kill her, winning the humans’ trust.

Reveal his true nature and save her, exposing them both.

His systems weighed pros and cons, balance sheets of survival. But none of it mattered. His mind never even opened the results file.

He had already chosen.

In one fluid motion, his black wings tore outward, spreading to their full span with a metallic rasp. The knights flinched, gasping. Jere stepped forward, shielding Ylfa with his body.

She looked up at him, startled, unable to process what was happening - until his eyes flicked to hers. In that instant, she understood.

She scrambled upright and threw her arms around his neck just as his wings thundered downward. The blast of wind flattened grass, sent cloaks whipping, and hurled men to the ground. Spears and swords clattered across the cobblestones as the angel of death launched skyward, carrying the red-eyed demoness on his back.

The crowd stared, stunned into silence, eyes fixed on the black silhouette cutting across the sunlit sky.

One villager whispered hoarsely, “Two demons… two demons, living right here among us… and we were none the wiser.”

Another swallowed hard, voice trembling with anger.
“How could the King allow this?”

Dozens of eyes turned toward the knights for an answer. One cleared his throat, his grip white-knuckled on his spear.
“I have been told that a winged demon fights for our country. But this… this Formy? I know nothing of her.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Hatred. Fear.

“Why are they allowed to stay here?” someone spat.

The knight lifted his chin, forcing steel into his voice.
“They are a necessary evil. For now, we must endure them. But the day will come when humanity rises above. When mankind reigns supreme, looking down on the other races of this world with nothing but contempt.”

The words spread like wildfire through the gathering, the crowd echoing them in bitter agreement as they watched the winged man vanish into the sky, arcing toward the palace and church on the hill.

Their eyes burned with hatred.

Jere touched down on the hilltop, wings beating one final time before folding back beneath his skin. Ylfa unlatched from his back, only to wrap herself around him again. Her arms circled his waist, her cheek pressing against his back.

Jere’s processors nearly overheated with excitement. A second instance of love recorded. Now patterns could be mapped, data cross-referenced. His heart rate spiked as her breath brushed the back of his neck.

“Just… let me stay like this for a minute, please…” she murmured.

He obeyed. Not that he minded. His face, as ever, remained impassive - but inside, something stirred. It felt good. More than good. He wanted to feel more. He wanted to go deeper, to let emotions cut through his hardened frame the way a hot blade slices butter.

For long moments they stayed that way, silent in the sun and wind. At last Ylfa exhaled softly and stepped back. Jere turned. Her smile was fragile, almost apologetic.

“Sorry. I ruined our da-” She caught herself, cheeks pink. “...our outing.”

His processors supplied a promising response. He delivered it flatly, but with precision.
“It wasn’t your fault.”

She shook her head, though her lips softened at his words.
“Mm. But… what happened? And why can you fly again all of a sudden?”

“The issue with my body adapting has cleared.”

She tilted her head, ears flicking.
“Is that what caused the shock?”

He nodded.

Her smile returned, small but genuine.
“Well… that’s good at least.”

He nodded once more.
“We have to wait until tomorrow morning before we can see the priest again.”

Her expression soured instantly.
“I don’t trust that priest.”

Jere said nothing. But inside, his agreement matched hers. The priest’s gaze had carried too much weight - layers of faith and devotion draped over something colder, something hidden. His intentions remained unreadable, even to Jere’s systems.

Ylfa broke the tension with a warmer smile.
“Let’s go back to our room, shall we?”

He nodded, and together they walked toward the palace. Sunlight spilled down in soft beams, even as darker clouds began to gather in the minds of the people.

The door clicked shut behind them. The room wrapped them in quiet comfort, a fragile pocket of solace. Ylfa sat at the edge of the bed, her gaze lingering on Jere.

He intended to take the floor, but the look in her eyes told him otherwise. He crossed the room and sat beside her. She smiled faintly as he settled, and warmth spread through his chest.

Silence stretched. Then a spark jolted through his circuits. Jere reached into his pocket and withdrew the MP3 player - miraculously intact despite the crash. Whatever his superiors on Earth had made it from, he was grateful.

Ylfa’s eyes widened at the slim, light-blue device as it caught the light.
“What’s that?”

“An MP3 player,” Jere replied, voice even.

Her ears flicked. “What’s that?”

Rather than explain, he showed her. A switch, a flash of diode light, a twist of the dial. Then he pressed play.

Music filled the room - clear, layered, alive. Drums rolled beneath swelling melodies, lyrics cutting through with cinematic force. Ylfa froze. A little box, singing without magic? Her breath caught.
“Music… how?”

Jere didn’t answer. He let the song carry itself.

They sat together until the track ended. Ylfa’s mouth hung open, eyes shining.
“This is amazing! Where’d you get it?”

“I was given it.”

The next song began - slower, softer, bittersweet. At first it sounded hopeful, but Ylfa listened closer, catching the thread of longing in the lyrics. Her chest tightened.
“Do you listen to this often?”

He nodded. “This and other things. I have my favorites.”

She nodded, falling quiet.

But Jere’s thoughts were elsewhere. His processors spun through probabilities, forecasting outcomes now that Ylfa’s true nature had been revealed. Too many paths. Too many variables. The future blurred into chaos.

Then - warmth. A soft weight pressed his shoulder. A tickle brushed his cheek. Ylfa’s ear. Her head leaned against him.

His systems flared. Heat surged. Memory banks scrambled for reference: love. It had to be love. Yet he found so few examples to guide him. So he sat motionless, clutching the player, heart hammering.

The music kept rolling. Her breathing rose and fell against him. Tufts of her hair brushed his temple. Jere committed every detail to memory.

The sun lowered. Genres shifted. Ylfa’s ears twitched at every change, betraying emotions he couldn’t quite categorize. He logged them carefully. With thousands of songs, he could test forever.

But peace shattered.

The door slammed open.

Two knights burst in, swords drawn, with the priest close behind. Steel wavered, their arms trembling between the Formy and the Angel. Their fear was palpable.

The priest, though rattled, kept his composure. His voice cracked only once.
“J-1. I don’t know why you’re harboring a Formy… but it is not my place to question it. It is, however, my place to execute her.”

The knights edged forward.

Ylfa stiffened - then gasped as Jere stepped in front of her. His wings burst outward, filling the small room with a rush of air and impossible presence.

The knights stumbled back, eyes wide.

“J-1. Stand down,” the priest demanded. His mask slipped - fear bleeding into anger.

Jere said nothing. His gaze bored into the man. The last shred of trust between them evaporated.

The priest’s teeth ground together.
“Get out of the palace. Now. Return to the church tomorrow morning for your next mission.”

Jere’s eyes narrowed. He flicked his gaze to the knights, who scrambled back, desperate to be anywhere but here. No sudden strikes would come.

His wings folded away. He stood tall beside Ylfa, shielding her, and together they walked out.

The door clicked shut.

The priest collapsed to his knees. Relief tore through him in ragged breaths. He had half-expected death where he stood. Even now, his body shook at the memory of J-1’s power unleashed in that tiny room.

He pressed a hand to the floor and whispered to himself. Once this war was over, and those two were no longer his burden, he would leave this palace forever.

The sky was paling, the last edge of sun bleeding out behind the horizon. Jere walked steadily, his gaze fixed forward, warding off the stares of those who dared glance their way. People scattered before them regardless.

Beside him, Ylfa trailed with her head bowed, tail curled tight between her legs. Shame gnawed at her. She didn’t understand why. She had always been proud of what she was - proud to be feared, proud to be respected. Yet now, under the weight of these glares, her pride curdled into something small and trembling.

These weren’t stares of awe. These were stares of hatred. Loathing. And it cut her deeper than she expected. Her ears drooped low. Every footstep pressed the weight heavier on her chest. She moved closer to Jere, instinct begging her to cling to his arm, to anchor herself. But she didn’t.

They pressed through the streets until Jere’s eyes caught an unassuming inn tucked near the palace hill. He pushed through the wooden door with purpose.

The eatery froze. Plates clattered, chairs scraped. Guests fled in a tangle of fear. Ylfa shrank behind him as he approached the counter, towering over the barkeeper.

Jere’s wings unfolded with a hiss and scrape, casting the room in shadow.
“Give us a room.”

The barkeeper gaped, face bloodless. Jere’s eyes narrowed.
“Give. Us. A. Room.”

That broke the man. He nodded furiously, words tumbling over themselves.
“Yes-yes, sir! At once, sir!”

He fled into motion, nearly tripping as he hurried up the stairs. “This way, please! The best I can offer!” Sweat dripped from his brow as he shoved open a door.

Inside waited a lavish apartment: wide bed, wardrobes, living space, even a small kitchen. A sanctuary.

Jere’s gaze followed the barkeeper until the man vanished back down the hall. Then he stepped inside. Ylfa sank onto the bed immediately. Her silence set alarms ringing in Jere’s mind.

He sat beside her.
“Are you alright?”

She gave a weak smile, still staring at the floor.
“I’m not sure. I’m… conflicted.”

He tilted his head.

“I thought I was proud to be a Formy. Now I don’t know.” She hugged her knees, voice soft. “Seeing the hate in their eyes… knowing if I went back home I’d see the same thing… It hurt me.”

Jere’s processors strained for the right response. No data set satisfied. He abandoned them, forcing himself to reach inside, to feel. His heart pounded.

“I’m proud of you.”

Her head snapped up. “Pardon?”

“I’m proud of you,” he repeated, face unreadable. “You didn’t lash out. You held back. That choice mattered. The consequences would have been dire otherwise.”

Her shock softened into warmth. Her chest eased. She smiled.
“Thank you.”

He nodded.

“And…” she breathed deeper, gathering courage. “Thank you for protecting me.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. He nodded again.

A mischievous glint crept into her eyes. “So you do care about me, then.”

The realization hit him like a surge through his entire system. This wasn’t just the echo of someone else’s love directed at him. This was his own. It was something new. Something terrifying. But he knew it was real.

“I can’t deny that.”

Her cheeks flushed crimson, her grin breaking wide.
“I’m glad.”