Damian's head snapped back with the force of the punch, his vision blurring for a moment as pain exploded across his face. He felt the sickening shift of cartilage, the ache of discomfort as his nose gave way under Callum's knuckles. Blood spilled from his nostrils, hot and metallic, down his lips, seeping onto his chin and into the corners of his mouth.
It hurt like a bitch.
But all Damian did was laugh.
A sharp, jagged sound that cut through the stunned silence of the club. The music had stopped, replaced by the murmurs and gasps of the crowd. Their voices were hushed but urgent. Curious. Somewhere, a glass shattered. Phones were out, cameras pointed to capture every moment of the chaos. Soon, security would step in, but not yet. Not before the damage was done.
"Holy fuck! Are you guys insane?!" Rosa's voice rang out, her heels clicking against the floor as she hurried forward.
But Damian barely heard her. He could hardly hear anything over the roaring in his head, over the sheer absurdity of it all. He laughed and laughed, the sound sharp and bitter, echoing through the stunned silence of the club.
Because it was inherently funny.
Seeing Callum like this—righteous fury burning in his dark eyes, fists raised like some fucking Avenger, like a hero fighting the good fight—not knowing his own hands were already stained with blood.
It was easier to laugh. Easier to taunt. Easier to be cruel than to let himself feel the weight of it all.
Damian straightened up, the club lights spinning in his vision. His nostrils flared as he pressed a thumb to the bridge of his nose, huffing out a glob of blood that splattered wetly onto the floor. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand, smearing red across his skin, and grinned at Callum.
"Did that make you feel better, you pea-brained wad of duckwort?" He asked, his voice dripping with mockery.
Callum's breath was ragged, his shoulders rising and falling with the effort of holding himself back. "Insulting me isn't going to make me any less angry."
Damian laughed again, the sound harsh and grating. "Who said anything about making you less angry, you clump of bathroom-drainage pubic hair?"
The anger in Callum's eyes burned hotter, and Damian reveled in it.
Good.
He wanted those eyes on him, wanted Callum to feel every ounce of the rage and frustration that had been simmering inside him for lifetimes.
"Callum, stop!" Micah's voice cut through the tension, desperate and pleading. He grabbed Callum's arm, trying to pull him away, but Callum didn't budge. His entire body was locked onto Damian like a predator scenting its prey. His eyes remained fixed on him and Damian couldn't help but smirk.
"What did you do to Micah?" Callum demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Damian raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Would you like that in detail? I'm afraid I'm not very prolific at narrating smut, but I could try."
Callum swung again.
The crowd let out a collective yelp as Damian dodged, the punch barely missing his jaw. Callum's roar was pure, unfiltered rage. "You scare him!"
Damian glanced at Micah. He was teary eyed, still trying to pull Callum away like the desperate housewife of a wicked man. "You're barking in the middle of the club and attacking me and I'm the one who scares him?"
Well, at least now he had confirmation that Callum's lack of self awareness carried across lifetimes.
Callum's gaze steeled. "You hurt him."
"You're the one trying to steal my boyfriend," Damian shot back sharply. "Don't lecture me about hurt."
The words struck deep. He saw it in the way Callum flinched—just a twitch, barely noticeable—but Damian caught it. The guilt, the hesitation.
'There it is.'
For a moment, Callum's fists lowered. But the moment passed. His knuckles clenched tighter, his jaw set.
"He's better off with me anyway," Callum muttered.
Damian froze.
A strange, ugly silence stretched between them.
Something cracked open inside him. Something dark and venomous that had festered for lifetimes.
That was what Caelan always thought:
'Ashur is safer with me.'
'I've given him a good life.'
'I love him.'
And yet, it had been Edric Caelan sought out in the brothel later. It was Edric Caelan liked to watch moaning in the midst of attractive prostitutes of all genders.
"I'm just looking," Caelan would whisper. "Ashur doesn't have to know. He wouldn't understand that debauchery is part of the duties of a prince."
'I'll protect him.'
And yet, when Edric had warned him that danger was on the horizon, Caelan had the audacity to say, 'You dare insinuate Aeryndale is weak?'. Edric— Damian— had told him people were coming after his throne and the idiot had said 'Then let them come.'
And now, here Callum was, in this life, spouting self righteous bullshit like he'd memorized a script. His sponge brain too porous to remember that he wasn't a saint or a hero. He was just a broken man who never learned how to properly process his grief and who blamed everyone for his downfall but himself.
Damian exhaled through his nose, tasting copper.
"You don't know anything," he said, voice dangerously low.
"Then tell me what I don't know!" Callum shouted, his frustration boiling over.
Damian spat back, "Why? It's much more fun to watch you flail around like a big-headed baby."
Callum's jaw tightened. "This big-headed baby is going to punch you again."
"Go right ahead, asshole." Damian's voice was cold. "Take your best shot."
Callum swung again.
Damian ducked, countering with a sharp uppercut that connected with Callum's ribs. Callum staggered, but recovered fast, tackling Damian to the ground.
The club erupted in chaos.
Screams, shouts, the scrape of furniture against the floor. Micah, Elle, and Rosa rushed forward, desperately trying to pull them apart.
"Gen! Go get security!" Rosa shouted.
Damian barely registered it. Neither did Callum.
They shrugged off hands, ignored pleading voices, tearing at each other's clothing gracelessly like angry children fighting over who got the toy first.
Damian felt Callum's fist slam into his ribs. He gritted his teeth, barely feeling the pain over the storm in his chest.
"You think he's better off with you?" Damian spat. "When you've done him more harm than good? He's going to die because of you. We're going to die because of you."
Callum's eyes widened, his grip faltering for just a second. "It was your father who—"
Damian's voice trembled with barely restrained anger. "It was your dumb spell that started this!"
Callum stiffened.
"We could have all lived the lives we were meant to live and ended it there. But you couldn't let it go. You had to keep chasing and seeking and searching for a way out when there isn't any."
Callum's breath was harsh. His pupils blown wide. "You're a liar."
"You thought you could undo history but you just brought us back to the beginning. Only, this time, neither of us have fucking swords!"
"You're a liar!" Callum shouted.
Damian's laugh was bitter. "No, you're the liar, Dorian!"
The name crashed into Callum like a blade to the chest.
He staggered back, as if Damian had physically struck him, his eyes wide with shock. Damian heard his breath hitch as the air caught in his throat. For a second, nothing moved. Micah froze too, his face pale, his breath nothing but an afterthought. His expression flickered with recognition. The name—Dorian—echoed in the silence.
It was the name of the main character of Micah's game. The name of the first man Damian had loved. The name of the man Callum pretended to be in the last years of his past life.
Damian loved that name. Callum didn't even know it.
"What did you just call me?" Callum asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Before Damian could respond, the bouncers stormed in, ripping them apart. Damian let them, his body sagging in their grip. He was tired. Exhausted. He wanted to rest in peace, he should have been resting in peace. He'd suffered too much to live it all again.
But here he was. Still hurting. Always hurting.
It was inherently funny and so so painful.
Callum thrashed against the security guards, his voice raw. "What are you talking about!?"
Damian laughed again, the sound hollow and broken. He wiped more blood from his mouth. Smiled. "Fuck, your idiocy is so endearing."
Callum roared. "Answer me!"
Damian tilted his head, considering him. Caelan was always so quick to anger.
"You came back," he said simply.
Callum stilled.
"I didn't recognize you," Damian continued. "And I allowed you to get close, wanting to do good. Hoping I was doing good."
Callum's breath shook. "Why?"
It was the second time Callum had asked him that question.
'Why would you do that?' He had wanted to know. 'That's not the Edric I remember.'
Well.
The Caelan he remembered wouldn't have pushed a blade through his best friend's heart. But that was the thing about loss.
It changed you.
Damian exhaled, slow and steady. He looked Callum in the eye, his voice quieter now.
"I took you in because you had his eyes," Damian murmured.
He let the words linger, let them soak into Callum's confused, furious, terrified expression.
"I let you into my home," Damian's voice was barely above a whisper. "And you ruined me for it."