In an animalistic state, Eyesore lashed out wildly, and managed to catch the woman a mighty blow that launched her into the air. She landed, stunned, a few feet away. It would have been easy for Eyesore to finish her off but the pain had driven all sense from him. Light now shone from his face, a beam of violet that made his skull glow red from the inside. Steam was swirling from the wound, and Sa-at could suddenly smell burning.

Though the demon could not scream, it began to buck violently, clawing at itself in an attempt to remove the tanzanite. But the shard was buried deep, and burned to the touch. Soon Eyesore’s fingers were smoking too, their tips seared black.

Meanwhile, Crunch had managed to steady himself. ‘Brother?’ he called. ‘Brother?’ Though Eyesore was in no state to reply, it was clear where he was, and Crunch felt his way over, until he was kneeling by his brother’s head. Both of them tried to get the tanzanite out of Eyesore’s skull with little success. Hands bashed into one another, and the actions of both brothers became increasingly desperate and aggressive.

By contrast to the noisy spectacle, the woman had recovered quietly, rising in a crouch. A fresh bruise was blooming across the side of her face, a purple flower, planted by Eyesore’s fist. She beckoned to Sa-at to come to her but he stayed where he was. He wanted to go, he dearly did, but to reach her would mean walking past Crunch, and he could not bring himself to do that.

She beckoned a second time, nodding to him as if to say: You can do this.

He tried to make his feet move but they remained stubbornly planted. Crunch’s words were ringing in his mind. There was no way the demon would miss his footsteps. It would grab him and then it would do all of the things it had promised, grinding and eating and making him eat. His bottom lip trembled. Tears began to well in his eyes.

With the softest of sighs, the woman started moving again, circling round behind Crunch, who was still clawing at his brother’s face. Eyesore’s movements were sporadic now, wild but less frequent, as if his body briefly forgot it was in agony, then remembered in a rush.

He’s going to die. The woman with the golden lips has already killed him. The thought didn’t give him any relief, for he knew this would make Crunch even angrier than before, and his suffering would be all the worse for it.

The woman stepped up to Crunch’s back. Even kneeling down, the demon wasn’t much shorter than her, yet she remained as calm as ever. She swept up a couple of strands of his fleshy hair and looped them round his neck. Then she began to pull.