You're not a person, they say, circling. You're one of Them. From the other side.

She came to me through the scent of lavender, curling about my nose like smoke.

"Honora?" I asked. "My sweet? Is that you?" My eyelids cracked open as my head pounded from a night fueled by alcohol and opium. I remembered nothing, except for stumbling out of a pub and going after...after something...

"Thomas," she whispered, her voice hollow and distant.

The temple altar in the central lava pit cracks open, and a column rises through it from underground: there's a Kyberdevil perched on top, an ugly-ass nine-foot goat-legged little bitch with most of its torso carved away to attach a rocket launcher.