Aftermath

Channel 6 news live broadcast.

19:30

Sam Houston National Forest

"Citizens of America, I come bearing tragic yet somewhat unbelievable news....The Sam Houston National Forest here in Houston, Texas...has been completely destroyed. 

Reports came in flooding that on 19:04, a consecutive number of explosion were heard and in just two minutes the entire forest was completely destroyed and consumed by fire. The conflagration disappeared as soon as it began, which confused the wildlife workers.

Some experts theoriesd it was a underground methane explosion, which

would explain the several number of uprooted trees. But why did the violent fires disappear so fast without any extinguishers?

And there has never been any reports of underground gas build up till now.

Mutliple craters have been also sighted in different locations, several feet apart.

The pure devastation caused here, is unfathomable. How can 163,037 acres, 255.06 square miles, be destroyed in less than two minutes?

And if it lasted for longer, how much would be destroyed? I shudder at the thought.

Luckily there were no workers at the those times, but the number of wildlife that

died...is incalculable.

Researchers around the country are perplexed by this phenomenon and are working tirelessly to find the root cause.

I am Natasha South, reporting live from the Sam Houston National Forset.

May God continue to be merciful to us all

____________________________________

Samantha stood, dazed, on the charred ground where she was revived. The battlefield was soaked in smoke and silence, the remnants of the flames swirling in the air like ghosts. Embers floated lazily, glowing like fireflies in the dark, but it was the void around them that seemed to pulse with a strange, almost sacred energy.

She looked around in confusion, still trembling from the impossible force that had brought her back. Her body was whole again, her blood no longer staining her clothes, her throat no longer bruised by the betrayal. But the questions—how? why?—burned in her mind.

"Am I... in Hell?" Samantha asked, her voice breaking through the stillness.

"Funnily enough, you were almost there," came the deep, familiar voice.

She turned to see Sammael sitting on a large boulder, staring at the sky with a solemn expression. His wings—black, with hints of silver at the edges—folded neatly behind him, but the fire in his gaze seemed to burn brighter than anything she'd ever seen.

Samantha's hand instinctively went to her throat. It had healed. No trace of the fatal wound remained. And yet, something had changed. She had died, and now she was back, but not alone—not unchanged.

The scent of burnt wood and ash hung in the air. Her gaze drifted over the devastated landscape, still thick with smoke. Her mind was reeling, and she couldn't shake the feeling that something far darker was waiting.

"Where's Jana?" she whispered, but the words felt empty as soon as they left her lips. She scanned the horizon, hoping to see the figure of her former friend—but the thick smoke gave her no answers.

A sharp cough broke through the haze, and she bent forward, gasping for breath. The air was thick with smoke, stinging her eyes, making it hard to breathe. She hadn't realized how much the pain had followed her into the moment—into the resurrection.

"You okay down there?" Sammael asked, his voice pulling her from the storm in her chest.

"No!" she coughed, struggling to get air into her lungs.

"I figured," Sammael replied dryly, rising from his boulder. Before she could protest, he was at her side, effortlessly lifting her onto his shoulder like she weighed nothing. His touch was cold, distant, but comforting in some strange way.

"You...what?" Samantha asked through a strangled gasp.

Sammael didn't answer. Instead, he spread his wings, each feather shimmering in the dim light. His wings unfurled, massive and powerful, the black feathers tipped with soft, silver-gray that flickered with an otherworldly glow. Before she could even process the beauty of it, they were soaring into the sky, rising faster than she could comprehend.

The ground fell away beneath her, and the wind roared in her ears. Samantha screamed, but it barely registered over the deafening sound of their ascent. She squeezed her eyes shut, heart racing, as they flew toward the mountains in the distance, the wind whipping her braids into a frenzy.

She screamed again as they picked up speed, but the laughter beside her made her stop—Sammael, laughing. She frowned, confused, but the flight only seemed to increase in velocity.

After what felt like an eternity, the roaring wind stopped. She slowly opened her eyes to find they had landed. The scenery had shifted completely—the air was cooler here, the grass underfoot vibrant green instead of the desolate gray of the burned forest.

Sammael gently placed her down on the ground, though she stumbled backward, her legs unsteady from the sudden descent. Her vision wavered, and she felt her balance give out, falling onto her backside with a soft thud.

Sammael raised an eyebrow at her, watching her struggle to gather herself.

"Did you just... grow wings?" Samantha asked in a whisper, still struggling to come to terms with the events.

"Yes," Sammael answered, his voice low but matter-of-fact.

"And did we just fly?" she pressed, her voice barely audible against the wind.

Sammael nodded.

"And... this isn't a dream?"

Sammael shook his head, no hint of humor in his gaze. He was serious, his demeanor unchanged despite the absurdity of what had just happened.

A heavy silence fell between them. The night air filled the space, the weight of her questions pressing down on her. Samantha stared at the ground, feeling the ground beneath her shift with each passing second.

"Did I die?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling with the weight of the truth.

Sammael didn't hesitate. His expression softened, but only for a moment.

"Yes," he said, his tone flat but firm.

Samantha's body stiffened, her shoulders drawing up to her ears. She hung her head, the reality of his words sinking in. She almost couldn't breathe, couldn't think. How could this be real? How could she be standing here?

"I see," she whispered, a hollow tone filling her voice. "Somehow I believe you."

Her hands came up to cover her face, the hot sting of unshed tears behind her eyes. Her mind was spiraling—the shock, the confusion, the disbelief—and nothing was making sense.

She had been stabbed, left for dead, and yet here she was. Alive.

Her hands trembled as she wiped the tears away, but it did little to calm her racing thoughts. Jana. Had she really tried to kill her? Was it really betrayal, or something worse?

Her chest tightened, each breath growing more erratic. The smoke in the air choked her, but it wasn't just the smoke. It was everything—the overwhelming flood of emotions and thoughts that she couldn't push away. She had died. And came back.

The pain, the fear, the betrayal—all of it rushed in like a torrent.

"Why did Jana do this?" she choked out. Her breath caught, each word harder to push through.

Sammael took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "Jana," he said slowly, his voice as sharp as a knife, "has her own path. I'm afraid it's not a path you should walk with her any longer."

Her heart pounded harder as her body trembled from the weight of her emotions. Why? How had everything become so twisted?

But before she could speak again, her breathing started to spike, the air too thin, too overwhelming. Her vision blurred, and she felt the world around her begin to fade.

"In my dream, he had wings... and I just saw him with wings... that means..." Samantha thought desperately, trying to make sense of everything. He's an angel.

Her chest tightened. Her mind raced.

The world spun, her body betraying her as her breath grew shallow.

Sammael saw it. He was at her side in an instant, crouching in front of her. His hand reached out, and a finger touched her forehead.

"Be still," he commanded softly.

A sudden calmness washed over her, settling the storm in her chest. Her breath steadied, and the tension in her body slowly melted away.

"Better?" he asked.

Samantha nodded, her mind clearer now, though still reeling. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady. "Sorry about that... It's a lot to take in."

"I bet," Sammael murmured.

"Wait... What did you do?" Samantha asked, still trying to make sense of what had happened to her.

"Ever hear of 'angelic touch' and 'angelic voice'?" Sammael replied, a faint glimmer of something close to amusement in his eyes. "Turns out, the expressions are quite literal for me."

Samantha looked around at the lush greenery, the strange serenity of their surroundings making the air feel surreal.

But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, her mind felt... clearer.

The night sky stretched above them, clear and full of life.

The stars twinkled in the distance, their patterns visible to those who could read them.

The sound of crickets filled the air, and fireflies flitted in the moonlight, casting small, glimmering lights wherever they moved.

A cold breeze brushed against Samantha's skin, causing goosebumps to rise, despite the hoodie she was wearing.

"Sammael, was it?" She asked, her voice soft.

"Mhmm." He nodded, his back still turned to her.

"Of all the questions racing through my mind, one is searing through, burning the tip of my tongue."

He glanced at her over his shoulder, giving her the space to continue.

"Why—or rather, how—am I not dead?"

Sammael's gaze shifted back to the scene before them.

While the view was beautiful, his eyes caught the burnt remnants of the forest down below—the blackened trees, the rising smoke, the charred remnants in the air. The memory of what had happened weighed heavily on him.

A sigh escaped his lips.

"It's because I revived you." He answered, his voice steady.

"How?" She asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Your soul hadn't crossed over yet. It was still within reach, which made it easier for me to bring you back." He explained. "You were lucky I got there before your soul was retrieved."

"Retrieved by what?"

"Depends on how you lived," Sammael hummed. "Either by a demon or an angel."

"And you're an angel, right?" Samantha asked. "That's how you were able to bring me back?"

"In simple terms... yes." Sammael reluctantly agreed, his tone softer. He understood her fragile state, so he chose to withhold certain details, not wanting to overwhelm her further.

"Ah... I suppose that makes sense." Samantha nodded.

"You seem to be more bothered by your mortality than the existence of the supernatural," Sammael observed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, that freaked me out," Samantha confessed. "But I guess after spending two months in a cult, the information became easier to digest."

"Right."

Samantha pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face in her legs. She was still processing everything, but there was one question that had been burning at her.

"Was this all my fault?"

Sammael turned to her, his curiosity piqued by her words.

"Why would you say that?" He asked, his tone gentle.

"I don't know," she admitted. "While I was in the cult, I felt like I wasn't really in control of my mind."

"How so?" Sammael pressed, intrigued.

"Every action, every decision, wasn't something I would normally do... it felt like something was pushing me. Everything I thought was off-limits, I indulged in. Everything I considered sacred, I willingly tarnished."

"That," Sammael began, his voice steady, "would be the effect of demonic spirits. They make humans go against their beliefs, pushing them toward whatever sinful inclinations are already present. Your friend Jana must have introduced them to you with trigger words. I briefly read your memories."

Samantha shot up, her eyes wide. "The words of truth."

"Hm?" Sammael cocked his head, confused.

"In Fili Hircus," she explained, "there's a saying: 'Only by walking in darkness can you find light.' That quote would bring me this... inexplicable sense of calm."

"They might have been the trigger words," Sammael mused. "Rest easy, knowing it wasn't really your fault, Samantha."

Another pause settled between them, heavy with unsaid words. Samantha gripped her leggings tighter, sighing deeply before voicing what had been on her mind.

"Part of me... wanted to do it."

"What?" Sammael asked, his brow furrowing.

"I think a part of me wanted to do all those things," she continued. "Some of the things I experienced there resonated with me."

"Maybe it was the spirits again," Sammael suggested.

Samantha shook her head. "You're not listening. A small, shriveled, cancerous part of me wanted to see death and destruction wherever I went. I was consumed by this anger, this hatred. And I think it really pushed me over the edge when I found out my father was getting released from prison."

Her voice trembled as she spoke, the weight of her confession pressing down on her. "It was suffocating. And I think I was the one feeling it. It clouded my judgment and made me take the first option that came to mind, which led me here."

Sammael sighed deeply and met her eyes, his gaze softening as he took in her raw vulnerability.

"I didn't want to tell you this, but..." Sammael paused. "You are correct. Kind of."

"How so?" Samantha asked, confused.

"Usually, humans avoid confronting their own morality," Sammael said. "But I guess you're more self-aware than most. Demons don't actually brainwash humans. They only activate what's already there. If there's an unhealthy amount of hate in your heart, demons can take hold of it and enhance it. They remove your inhibitions and your sense of reason, leaving you to act on pure impulse."

He continued, his voice calm yet heavy with wisdom. "This can manifest as any dark thought—greed, anger, pride, envy, lust. It's why humans often say things like 'It isn't like me' or 'I wasn't myself.' As long as there's darkness in your heart, demons have access to your soul."

"So, every decision we make is still our fault?" Samantha thought aloud, her eyes distant.

"But demons are the ones that make you susceptible to committing those depravities," Sammael countered. "Yes, the smallest voices in our heads are often the loudest, but realistically, how many of us listen to them?"

Samantha frowned deeply. "Yet we humans still have those thoughts in the first place. You said it yourself—demons activate what's already there."

She paused, then turned her gaze back to Sammael. "Why are you smiling?"

Sammael had a wide grin on his face, and he quickly realized how inappropriate it was given the conversation's tone. He blushed slightly.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it," Sammael said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "It's just... I've never seen so much of myself in a human before, in all my years of living."

"Yeah, the bar must be incredibly low if you're impressed by me," Samantha chuckled.

"Au contraire, my dear friend," Sammael said with a playful tone. "I've been friends with Greek philosophers, and they rarely admit their flaws so openly. To be fair, they were quite arrogant—always questioning everything—and it was so annoying. But it was also part of their charm, you know?"

Sammael walked toward Samantha and sat down beside her, his mood shifting to something more serious.

"Look, while it's noble to admit fault, it's a rare human quality these days. It's not fair to blame yourself for all this. The fact of the matter is, you wouldn't have done any of this if it wasn't for demonic influence. Just because we have dark thoughts doesn't mean we always act on them. New mothers, for example, sometimes have disturbing thoughts or dreams about harming their newborns due to post-partum stress. But do they act on them? No, they ignore them and push through."

Sammael's voice softened further. "My explanation about demons wasn't meant to persecute or judge you. It was to help you rid yourself of darkness in your soul."

Samantha gazed down at the hellish landscape below them. "I don't know what happened here exactly, but I know there was a battle of sorts. That's why—"

"What did you say?" Sammael asked, his tone now laced with surprise.

"What?" Samantha looked up, her confusion clear.

"You just said there was a battle. How did you know that?"

"I don't know," Samantha said, shaking her head. "I just... have this feeling—not in my gut, but in my soul—that there was a huge fight here."

Sammael's eyes widened as he processed her words. "How many people do you think were fighting?"

"At first, eight. But at the end, I think it was just two."

Sammael's face grew serious with concern, his surprise unmistakable. This made Samantha worry even more.

"What's wrong?" She asked, sensing his change in demeanor.

Sammael snapped back into reality, his focus shifting back to her.

"Sorry, my fault," he apologized. "What will you do now?"

"I don't know," Samantha replied, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "After today, nothing will feel the same."

She shot up suddenly, her eyes wide with panic. "Jana! Where is she?"

Sammael stood up, his expression darkening as the name Jana echoed in the air.

"Jana is... somewhere," Sammael said, his voice calm but heavy with an unspoken weight. "But she is not the same person you remember."

Samantha's heart raced, her body trembling slightly as she glanced around, searching the shadows for any sign of her former friend. "What do you mean? What happened to her?"

"Demons don't simply influence," Sammael said, taking a step closer to her, his voice more solemn now. "They take. They corrupt. And Jana... she made a choice." He sighed heavily, his eyes dark with the memory. "In a way, she became a vessel. A puppet. Her mind, her will, were bent to the whims of something much darker than she ever realized."

Samantha stumbled back, her hand going to her throat as though she couldn't quite breathe. "But... she was my friend. She was my friend," she choked out, the weight of betrayal settling heavily on her chest.

"Yes," Sammael agreed, his voice gentler now. "She was. But the darkness she allowed in changed her. She walked a path that led her to... a very different version of herself."

"Is she—?" Samantha started, her voice shaking with a mixture of fear and anger. "Is she even still human?"

Sammael hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the burned horizon below. "In a way... no. She's still her but twisted. The essence of humanity that once made her who she was... is buried deep beneath the corruption. Now... she is just a tool. A means to an end."

Samantha clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I have to stop her," she whispered fiercely, the fire of determination igniting in her heart.

"You cannot stop her," Sammael replied softly, but his voice held no mockery, only the truth he had come to accept. "Not unless she allows it."

Samantha shot him a look. "You don't understand. I don't care what she's become. I still... I still care about her. I have to save her."

Sammael shook his head slowly. "Saving someone from the darkness is not something you can simply will into existence. Jana made her choice. She chose to embrace it. And now, she's beyond the reach of mere mortals." He met Samantha's gaze, his eyes filled with something akin to pity. "You can't save her by force alone. And the longer you chase her, the further you might stray from the light you're trying to hold onto."

"I don't care!" Samantha snapped, stepping forward, her chest heaving with emotion. "I will find a way. I don't care what it costs, I don't care what she has become. She's still my friend, and I owe it to her to try."

Sammael regarded her with an unreadable expression, the weight of centuries of experience in his gaze. "And if that way is through your own destruction? What then? Will saving her be worth losing yourself?"

Samantha faltered, the fire in her eyes dimming for a moment. "I... I don't know. But I can't not try."

There was a long pause. Sammael's lips parted as though to speak, but he stopped himself. Instead, he gave her a long, steady look. "Then I won't stop you. But remember, Samantha... some battles are not worth fighting. And some friends... are too far gone to be saved."

Samantha swallowed hard, her throat tight. "I have to try."

Sammael turned, his face softening ever so slightly. "I understand. Just... be careful. This path you're choosing, it will not be easy."

Samantha nodded, determination hardening her resolve. "I don't need it to be easy. I just need it to be right."

As she spoke, she felt something stir within her, a power she couldn't quite explain. The memories of everything she'd been through—the cult, the death, the destruction—flickered in her mind. But instead of drowning her, they now seemed to fuel her, turning her into something... stronger.

Sammael glanced back at her once more, his expression unreadable, before he looked down at the destroyed forest. The world felt still for a long moment, as if everything was holding its breath.

"Then we'll see," Sammael said quietly. "But be warned, Samantha. There are forces at work in the world that far exceed our comprehension. You might not be ready for what lies ahead."

Samantha didn't reply. Instead, she simply turned, walking towards the horizon, her heart set on one singular thing: finding Jana. Whatever it took.

Sammael watched her leave, a flicker of concern passing through his eyes, but he didn't stop her. Not yet.

For better or worse, the path Samantha was walking was hers alone.

Sammael glanced at her, noticing the unwavering determination in her eyes. Arguing further would only undermine her resolve. With a heavy sigh, he gave in.

"Alright. Let's find Jana," he said, his tone softer but no less resolute.

Samantha nodded, her expression hardening as she stood up. The fireflies flickered in the night air, their light catching in her hair as she brushed it back with a quick, impatient motion.

Sammael stood as well, his eyes scanning the dark horizon for any signs of movement. The wind still carried the faintest scent of charred wood and destruction, and his heart tightened. He hadn't wanted to involve her in all of this, but now she was far deeper than he ever imagined.

"You sure about this?" Sammael asked quietly, not looking at her. His tone wasn't one of doubt but of something deeper—a warning to both of them.

Samantha's jaw tightened, her fists clenched at her sides as if to ground herself against the storm of emotion swirling within. "She was my friend. I need to know why she did what she did."

Sammael said nothing more, though he understood all too well the weight of that decision. He had walked alongside countless souls, each with their own path—some more twisted than others—but this? This felt different.

They moved in silence, the night heavy around them. Only the sound of crickets and the occasional gust of wind filled the quiet, a far cry from the chaos they'd just survived. The road ahead was unclear, but there was no turning back now.

Samantha took the lead, her eyes sharp and determined. Sammael followed a few paces behind, keeping his distance as always. But his attention never left her, his senses alert to any danger that might lurk in the shadows. After all, the night had never been as quiet as it seemed.

It wasn't long before they reached the edge of the forest, the ruins of the burned trees stretching endlessly before them. Somewhere in the distance, the faint glow of a fire flickered.

"Do you think she's still alive?" Samantha asked, her voice barely a whisper, the fear in her words masked by the hard edge of resolve.

Sammael's lips pressed together, and for a moment, it almost seemed as if he'd give her the truth—a truth that might break her resolve. But he chose a different path.

"If she's still here, she'll be hard to find. But I'll help you search."

Samantha exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the night air. The cold had set in, and though her body shivered slightly, her resolve remained unbroken.

"I need to know," she repeated, more to herself than to him.

Sammael nodded, knowing she wouldn't stop until she had answers—answers that might not bring peace, but the closure she craved. He was no stranger to the darker side of the soul, and whatever this journey would bring, he was certain it would test them both in ways they hadn't yet imagined.

He picked her up

"Flying will be faster"

________________________

 Back at the cult cabin, where the battle with Zanthos had started, Sammael hovered nearby, holding Samantha in his arms, cradling her bridal style.

He descended slowly, landing gently in front of the door.

The fire hadn't reached this part of the forest—Sammael had made sure of that. The cabin stood untouched by the destruction that had ravaged the surrounding area.

He lowered Samantha carefully to the ground, allowing her to walk into the cabin.

The moment she stepped inside, the foul stench hit her. It was the rancid smell of rotting flesh and decay, like the very air had been infected with death.

Samantha pinched her nose and tried to ignore it, but the sight that met her eyes was enough to stop her in her tracks.

Dead bodies lay scattered across the floor, each one mutilated beyond recognition. Some of the corpses had been so violently torn apart, it was impossible to tell whether they had been human in the first place.

Flies swarmed over the bodies, already feeding, their maggots crawling over the remains.

Samantha shut her eyes tight, trying to block out the horror, but the images were burned into her mind.

Sammael moved past her, stepping toward the ritual altar where Jana lay. He gently lifted her from the table, carrying her in his arms. Samantha followed close behind, her mind reeling from what she had just witnessed.

Outside the cabin, Sammael set Jana down on the ground.

"Is she alive?" Samantha asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah," Sammael confirmed. "But not as lucky as you."

"What do you mean?"

"She saw Hell—saw it with her own eyes. I assume it happened when the demons opened the portal. One of them didn't bother to hide the horrors it contained, probably on purpose. Now... she's stuck in a permanent, catatonic state."

"She's... like this because of that?"

"Humans can't endure seeing the divine in such a raw, unfiltered form unless they've been exposed to it their entire lives or have some natural resistance to it," Sammael explained. "Jana's mind couldn't handle it. Now, she's broken."

Samantha looked down at her. Jana's eyes were wide open, but they stared blankly at the sky, unblinking. Her body was still, almost lifeless, save for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. A fly landed on her pupil, but there was no reaction. No flinch. No blink. She was as good as a shell.

Samantha collapsed to her knees, her heart breaking at the sight.

Sammael sighed, a deep, mournful sound. "If only I had gotten here sooner."

"What will happen to her?" Samantha asked, her voice shaky.

Sammael's expression darkened, and he looked down at Jana. "Her soul... it's shattered. Too fragmented for me to repair. I could try, but I can't fix her completely. She has to heal on her own, but... no human has ever done that. Those who seem to have come back? They're never the same."

Samantha swallowed hard, feeling a weight of guilt and sorrow she couldn't escape. "So... she's lost?"

Sammael didn't answer immediately. His gaze lingered on Jana, a somber quiet between them. "In a way, yes."

Sammael stood up, lifting Jana gently into his arms. "Also, you're in danger, by the way."

Samantha's brow furrowed in confusion. "What?"

"Demons know your blood now," Sammael continued, his voice serious. "They've been summoned with it. And now that you've been seen with me, they'll target you and your family."

Samantha blinked slowly, processing the words. "What?" she said, her voice slow, like she couldn't fully grasp it.

"I probably should have led with that," Sammael muttered, pausing briefly. "You and Jana—you're descendants of great people, whose blood is special. Blessed with extraordinary abilities. You're a descendant of David, the first human to be chosen by Heaven to be anointed as a king and an ancestor of the great Messiah. He was a warrior, a prophet, and a man after God's own heart, yet also deeply human, struggling with his own sins and imperfections. He was also the first to meet an angelic messenger directly, a pivotal moment that forever changed the course of history. That's why the cult needed you for the ritual. Your bloodline, imbued with his strength and divine connection, is far more potent than you realize."

Sammael's gaze darkened as he continued, "And it's also why you haven't lost your mind like Jana did. You carry that same divine resistance—spiritual resilience that runs deep within you. It's why your soul hasn't fractured under the weight of all this darkness. You have the blood of David in you, Samantha. His courage, his wisdom, and his connection to the heavens run through your veins, even if you don't fully understand it yet."

Samantha's eyes widened as she processed the weight of his words, her thoughts spinning with the realization of who she was truly connected to.

Samantha stared at him, trying to piece everything together. "So she's like this because..."

"It's you they really wanted, Samantha," Sammael said, his gaze turning grim. "Jana's ancestor wasn't what they needed—it's your blood. Your blood was potent enough to summon an archdemon. Now that it's been awakened, more and more people will seek you out. You'll be hunted, and it's a never-ending cycle."

Samantha's heart sank as she clutched her chest. It wasn't her fault, but it felt like it was. The weight of it all pressed down on her.

Sammael let out a soft sigh, glancing around as if weighing how much to say. "And just so you know, Samantha, you've awakened, too. Your abilities are starting to stir now that you've come into contact with this... bloodline." He looked at her carefully. "I'm guessing you felt something shift, didn't you?"

Samantha's mind was swirling with everything Sammael had just told her. She could feel something inside her—something powerful, but raw, like a dormant force that had just begun to wake. It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

"Awakened?" she echoed, voice tinged with awe and fear. "What does that mean for me?"

"It means you have more potential than you realize," Sammael said. "But it also means the danger you're in just escalated." He looked down at Jana, his expression hardening. "And right now, keeping you safe from the ones who'll hunt you is my top priority."

"What about my brother?!" she asked urgently, her voice tight with concern. "Is he in danger?"

Sammael raised a brow, his expression shifting into one of surprise. "Wait... you don't know?"

"Know what?" Samantha asked, panic creeping into her voice.

Sammael hesitated for a moment before answering, his tone almost casual as he looked down at her. "Your brother is going to be fine. In fact... he's a top-rank demon hunter."

The sterile, quiet room at Cypress Point Psychiatric Hospital felt more like a tomb than a place of healing. White walls, harsh fluorescent lighting, and the distant hum of machinery created an atmosphere that was anything but comforting. Jana lay motionless in the bed, her wide-open eyes staring into nothingness—unblinking, unseeing, lost in a void of her own. It was as if time had stopped for her, the only movement her shallow breaths. Samantha sat by her bedside, her hands curled nervously in her lap. Her gaze flickered between Jana and Sammael, searching for any sign that her friend would return to her. She wanted so desperately to see the familiar spark of life in Jana's eyes, to have her friend back from the precipice of catatonia, but the betrayal still hung in the air, an invisible weight. The trust that had once been so effortless now felt fragile, like glass that could shatter at the slightest touch.

The door creaked open with a soft click, and a nurse entered, her calm demeanor starkly out of place in the otherwise tense room.

"Don't worry, Ms. King," the nurse said gently, offering a reassuring smile. "Your friend will be just fine. Let me give you a few minutes."

With that, the nurse stepped out, leaving the two alone with Jana. The silence stretched on, thick and heavy. Samantha turned to Sammael, her eyes silently pleading with him. Her voice came out as barely a whisper.

"Can you try fixing her now?"

Sammael nodded in response, his face unreadable. He approached Jana with the grace of a predator and the calm of someone who had seen it all. His hand glowed with silver-white flames, the light cutting through the darkness of the room like a blade. As he moved closer, the flames seemed to hum with a quiet intensity, filling the air with a low crackling sound.

With a word barely spoken, Sammael laid his burning hand on Jana's temple. The flames spread around her body, enveloping her in a halo of pure, radiant fire. For a moment, time seemed to bend and stretch, the flames flickering in slow motion as they healed, purged, and soothed. The fire did not burn her, but rather cleansed her—an act of mercy that Sammael reserved only for the most delicate of souls.

As the flames slowly receded, Sammael took a step back. The room returned to its unnatural stillness, the warmth of the flames leaving a lingering trace in the air.

Samantha, holding her breath, leaned forward. Her voice trembled with a mix of hope and desperation. "Did it work?"

Sammael's eyes remained fixed on Jana for a long moment. He nodded, though the uncertainty in his gaze lingered. "Let's wait and see."

The silence stretched on again. Samantha could feel the minutes dragging by, every second an eternity in the waiting. She kept her eyes fixed on Jana, her breath shallow. Then, at last, Jana's eyes flickered. The faintest blink. Then another.

Samantha shot to her feet, a breath escaping her lips in a relieved gasp.

"Jana!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with emotion.

Before either could take another step, the change in Jana was unmistakable. Sammael's lips curled into a small, amused smile, though there was a hint of confusion in his expression.

"She was more resistant than I thought," he said, his voice soft yet filled with a sense of quiet satisfaction. He turned to Samantha with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Was I wrong?"

Samantha laughed, the sound full of relief. "Hell yeah! Look at my girl!"

Jana blinked again, her smile calm, serene. But something in her eyes had shifted—something that made the air feel thicker, heavier. She tilted her head toward Sammael, her gaze focused on him with an intensity that felt almost too knowing.

For a moment, there was an unsettling stillness as Sammael met her gaze. He took a half-step back, brow furrowing as a strange realization began to form.

Then, Jana spoke.

"I am honored by your presence, Nightbringer."

The words hit like a jolt of electricity, and both Samantha and Sammael froze, staring at Jana as if they had both heard the same impossible thing.

Sammael's voice dropped into an undertone, laced with both disbelief and curiosity. "You… know me?"

Jana's smile widened, but it wasn't a smile of happiness. It was the smile of someone who had seen beyond the veil, someone who had looked into a darkness that the world could not comprehend.

"You are of the Morningstar, of course I know you," she said with a tone that could only be described as reverential.

Samantha felt a chill creep up her spine as she glanced between Jana and Sammael, her heart pounding in her chest. The confusion in her eyes was obvious.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Morningstar? Nightbringer? What's going on?"

Sammael remained silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable as he regarded Jana. Then, slowly, his voice broke the silence.

"There's more to her than you know. Jana has changed… something is awakening inside her."

Samantha stepped back slightly, her heart thudding in her chest.

"Is she still… her?" she asked, uncertainty coloring her words. "Can we trust her?"

Sammael turned away from Jana, his eyes distant. He spoke quietly, as if to himself more than to Samantha.

"For now, we wait. But trust? That may never come again."

He turned to Jana. Silence filled the air as they both processed the scene in front of them.

Sammael narrowed his eyes, taking a cautious step forward. His voice was low, controlled, but there was a hint of an old flame beneath it—a flicker of the fury he kept buried.

"Why do you know me by that name?" he asked, his tone cutting through the silence like a knife.

Jana's eyes shimmered, not with recognition, but revelation. Her head lolled slightly to one side, as if listening to a voice only she could hear. Then she began to speak—softly at first, but with a cadence that did not belong to her.

"In the days before time's keeping, the Bearer of the Mother Flame marched upon the fields of Gadara, where beasts bowed and angels wept.

The King of Beasts tore the sky asunder at Mount Kelmaron. His roar silenced the Dominion Choir. His sword drank deep of Seraph and Fiend alike."

Her voice deepened, echoing slightly—as though the walls themselves were speaking with her. Samantha shivered.

"You stood at Lucifer's side," Jana said, eyes still fixed on Sammael. "Not behind him. Beside him. When Heaven cracked and fell into war, you bathed in the blood of virtues and virtues' children. You laughed as you lit the skies ablaze."

Her smile widened unnaturally. There was no joy in it—only revelation.

"You were the Crownless King, the Nightbringer, the Flame of Finality. They called you 'The Embodiment of God`s fury'. And you reveled in it."

Sammael remained still, though a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Samantha looked up at him, her face pale. She had never heard these things—not from him. She saw that they bothered him deeply. The expression he made made her heart break and she didn't know why.

"Jana… that's enough," she whispered.

But Jana didn't stop.

"You think yourself changed," she breathed, eyes still gleaming. "But you are only a mirror. Just like him. You walk in shadows, just as Lucifer once did. And in time, you too will burn the world trying to save it."

She leaned forward, a slow, mechanical motion.

"You are another Morningstar."

The words landed like a curse.

Sammael turned away, his jaw clenched, his voice brittle with ancient guilt. "She's gone," he muttered.

Samantha stared at him, stunned. "What do you mean?"

"She's not in there anymore," he said, not turning back. "Whoever she was… it's been overwritten. You saw it. She's not Jana. She's become something else. Something old."

He looked at Samantha, eyes hollow.

"Getting her back is a fantasy," he said quietly. 

Without waiting for her reply, Sammael walked toward the door. The flame in his palm had long gone out.

As he pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway, Jana tilted her head again—still smiling.

"Samantha," she said softly.

Samantha stopped in her tracks, halfway out the room. Her breath caught.

Jana's voice was like silk soaked in blood.

"You are doomed, child of the Covenant.

Descendant of David.

Daughter of Zion's last promise.

Your song ends where his began."

Samantha turned slowly, her face pale as snow. Jana was still smiling. Still watching. Not blinking.

"Samantha," she whispered again. "You will see."

It took everything inside her not to run.

Instead, trembling, Samantha forced herself to turn around and walk away. Her boots echoed down the white hallway like the toll of a funeral bell. As the door clicked shut behind her, Jana's smile remained—eerily serene, like a statue that knew it was being worshiped again.

They walked in silence through the pale halls of Cypress Point Psychiatric Hospital the air around them colder than the air conditioning could account for.

Sammael said nothing.

Samantha didn't either—not at first. She just followed a step behind him, arms crossed tightly against her chest, her mind a storm of memory and unease. But as they turned a corner into a quiet waiting area near the elevators, she couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Are you going to tell me what the hell that was?" she demanded.

He stopped.

His back remained turned to her, shoulders heavy with something unseen.

"That wasn't Jana," he said, barely above a whisper.

"No," she snapped, stepping in front of him, forcing eye contact. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to just throw out some cryptic one-liner and walk away like you're some brooding antihero. You fixed her, remember? Your fire—your miracle. So what the hell was that in there?"

Sammael's face was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed a deep exhaustion.

"That wasn't healing," he said. "It was extraction. Her soul… her essence… it was buried under something ancient. Something waiting to speak."

"Speak?" Samantha scoffed. "She recited your biography like a possessed cultist, Sammael. She knew battles you never even told me about. She called you another Morningstar."

Sammael flinched, almost imperceptibly.

Samantha took a step closer. "Is it true?"

He hesitated.

"…Some of it," he finally said. "I did fight beside Lucifer in the Rebellion. Not for him. Not for Heaven. For myself. I was a weapon… honed by the Host, unleashed without question. They called me the Embodiment of Gods Fury because when I moved, nothing survived the stampede. When I burned, the fire didn't stop at flesh—it licked through souls. There was a time when angels feared me more than demons did."

He lowered his gaze.

"I was cruel, Samantha. Efficient. No remorse, no mercy. And in that era… there wasn't much difference between me and the Morningstar."

Samantha's voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you regret it?"

He looked up at her, eyes raw. "Every moment."

The silence between them grew.

"She said I was doomed," Samantha whispered. "That I'm the daughter of the Covenant. A descendant of David. What does that mean?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

"It means you're a thread," he said. "A living remnant of something ancient and powerful—an unbroken line tied to Heaven's oldest promises. There are forces that fear that. And others that… covet it."

"So I'm just a walking target."

"You always were," he said. "But you're not alone anymore."

She bit her lip, staring past him. "Do you think… she's right? That I'm doomed?"

He placed a hand on her shoulder—gentle, steady. "No. Not while I still breathe."

Samantha looked up at him, conflicted—afraid, but stronger than she was an hour ago.

"Promise me," she said, "if it ever gets to me like it got to her—if I ever start saying the same kind of stuff… You stop me. No matter what."

Sammael's jaw tensed. "I don't break my promises."

They stood there for a long moment, neither ready to walk away from what they'd just seen. Behind them, somewhere down the hallway, the faintest sound echoed—like a whisper brushing the walls.

And though neither spoke it aloud, both of them were thinking the same thing.

This wasn't over.

Miami outside the villa

"Sir, we need you to put the lady down!" Deven yelled into the microphone.

Of all the fucking days, this happens now? I should be at home helping Samantha with her homework. Not this.

Before him, a massive, luxurious villa loomed—its top floor lit up like a damn beacon. And standing in front of the large windows, a demon-possessed man clutched a young woman in front of him like she was a mere trophy, a talon pressed against her neck, threatening to slice through her skin at any moment.

"No, she is mine! I gave her everything! Money, jewelry, cruises. But when I wanted what I wanted? It becomes a problem. She wasn't ready. She wanted to go home. What about me?! I haven't been laid for three months!" The man snarled, his voice rising in frustration.

Deven's left eye twitched in disbelief as he observed the scene. His mind raced. How the hell did it come to this?

Fellow demon hunters circled the mansion, their holy weapons drawn and gleaming under the Miami sun, but none dared to make a move just yet. They were waiting for the right moment.

Deven's jaw clenched as he took in the situation. "Dude, c'mon! Put the girl down, your ass is too old to be playing games with girls younger than you!"

He looked at the girl, barely visible behind the demon's hulking frame. Her face was pale, terror written all over her expression. Deven took a step forward, trying to get closer, but the possessed man responded with an angry snarl.

The demon twisted the girl's head back, pushing the talon deeper into her neck. A faint trickle of blood dripped down the side of her throat.

Deven froze. His eyes flashed with warning. He raised his hands slowly in the air, but his tone was unwavering.

"What`s your name'" Deven asked, voice slow, carefully measured.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen." The girl trembled, her eyes full of fear, but she forced the words out.

Deven's stomach churned. "Really, man?! She's a sixteen-year-old girl!"

The possessed man barked back, clearly losing what little grip he had left on his sanity. "Sixteen-year-old woman!"

That comment made every single demon hunter cringe. 

Deven's lips twisted in a tight grimace. "Age is just a number to you, isn't it?"

The guy sneered, twisting his claw, drawing another small line of blood down the girl's neck.

"But You know what else is just a number?" he said, his voice colder now, just barely trembling with fury.

He clicked back the hammer on his revolver.

"The number of years you'll burn in Hell."

The demon's grin twitched. "You're bluffing. You fire, I cut her throat."

"Yeah," Deven nodded slowly, "but the second you do, I shoot you in the dick and keep going till your corpse forgets how to be possessed."

The possessed man blinked—something in Deven's eyes unnerved him. Hunters weren't supposed to be this calm. Not with a hostage. Not with this much pressure.

But Deven King wasn't most hunters.

He had already counted the distance. Mapped the angles. Noted the weak point—the trembling wrist of the man's clawed hand, how the elbow lifted slightly every time he adjusted his grip. Deven didn't just see the threat. He read it, like a story unfolding in slow motion.

He flicked his eyes once to Sophie. "Get down," he said.

She hesitated.

"I said—GET DOWN!"

She dropped like a stone. The demon tried moving out the way

But it was too late.

Deven moved.

Bang.

A silver bullet shattered the demon's wrist.

Bang.

Another took his knee out from under him.

Bang.

Final shot drilled center-mass.

The man shrieked — flesh bubbling, sloughing off in wet chunks. His body ripped apart, birthing something monstrous: black-scaled, with wings stitched from shadow and hundreds of roving red eyes blooming across its torso.

Civilians screamed. Some ran. Some just froze, horror pinning them to the sidewalks.

"Alright, big guy," Deven muttered, drawing his sword. "Let's dance."

The demon crashed through the villa window — glass exploding like gunfire — and landed on the street below, crushing a convertible into scrap.

Without warning, it lunged.

Deven met it head-on.

They collided mid-street, shockwaves shattering the pavement. Nearby cars flipped like toys. Civilians ducked for cover, glass raining down in glittering sheets.

Deven twisted midair, slashing — his blade nicked a tendon. The demon howled, stumbling. Deven vaulted off a shattered lamp post, sword flashing again — slicing clean through a wing joint.

The beast retaliated, tail lashing like a whip. Deven barely ducked, skidding under it, asphalt tearing up in his wake.

Bullets from the demon hunters peppered the monster's hide — useless. The demon laughed, spreading its broken wings and unleashing a shockwave that sent people flying.

Deven moved.

He grabbed a falling civilian midair, flipped, and rolled her safely behind a bullet-riddled food truck.

"You good?" he asked.

She nodded, dazed.

"Good," Deven muttered. "Stay down."

He left here to continue the battle.

The demon tore a parking meter from the sidewalk and hurled it like a javelin. Deven sidestepped, caught it mid-spin, and threw it back — slamming it into the demon's face.

The creature stumbled, roaring.

Deven charged.

They clashed again — brutal, close-quarters. Blades and claws, fists and fire. Deven ducked a claw swipe, countered with an uppercut that snapped the demon's head back, then drove the hilt of his sword into its ribs.

Another boom — the demon leapt into the air, smashing into a nearby building. Concrete and steel collapsed.

Civilians screamed, sprinting as chunks of debris rained down.

Deven's comm crackled. "Sir, we have civilians trapped on the third floor!"

Deven's teeth grit. "Hold the perimeter. I'll handle it."

The demon lunged out of the wreckage, grabbing a falling office worker by the leg — dangling him over the abyss.

Deven sprinted up the side of a wrecked bus, kicked off, and slammed into the demon's arm with the force of a wrecking ball. Bones snapped. The worker dropped — and Deven caught him one-handed, tossing him to a rescue hunter waiting below.

"You're welcome!" Deven shouted, barely dodging a swipe that could've caved his skull in.

The demon shifted tactics — wings flaring, launching itself high above the street.

A shadow fell over Miami.

Deven swore under his breath. "Of course."

The demon divebombed — a black missile — claws first.

Deven sprinted up a tilted semi-truck, momentum building. At the apex, he launched himself into the sky — meeting the demon mid-air.

Sword clashed against claw.

For a heartbeat, they hovered — two forces locked in brutal suspension — before Deven drove the sword down into the demon's sternum, riding the creature like a comet as they crashed through three stories of concrete.

The impact cratered the street.

The demon pushed Deven off him and plucked the sword off and roared loudly.

The creature was relentless, but so was Deven.

It charged forward again, and this time, it tackled Deven with a force that sent them both flying through the air, making him drop his weapons. It flew with unbelievable velocity and they soared in the air.They crashed into the city, the streets crumbling beneath their weight. Deven's feet hit the ground first, but the force of the tackle drove them through a building, sending debris scattering in all directions. For a moment, there was only chaos, the sound of twisted metal and shattered stone.

Deven wasn't out for long.

He kicked off the rubble and spun, grabbing the nearest chunk of concrete and throwing it at the demon. It collided with the creature's head, but the demon was too strong to be stopped by something so simple.

It lunged again, slamming its claws into Deven's chest. He gritted his teeth as the ground cracked beneath their struggle, each punch, each blow, shaking the city.

The demon swung a massive fist, but Deven was already gone. He sidestepped, his movements a blur as he used the environment—sliding across a broken pillar, vaulting off a collapsed wall, before hitting the ground running. He pushed off with an explosive force, his legs carrying him faster than the eye could follow.

He was back in an instant, launching himself into the fight once more.

This time, the demon roared as it swiped its claws, but Deven was already leaping. He soared higher than any human should be able to, landing atop a small building with a grace that defied physics. The impact sent dust and debris flying.

The demon followed, its massive wings snapping open to catch the air. It lunged, but Deven was already moving. The two collided again, fists meeting with earth-shattering force. Each blow sent shockwaves through the city. Deven's strike sent the demon crashing through a nearby wall, the building crumbling around it.

But the demon wasn't down. Not yet.It roared again, its wings snapping to life, and charged. Deven barely had time to react as the beast came crashing into him. Their fists met, the sheer power of the blows causing the buildings around them to tremble. Each punch sent them both slamming into walls, each impact shaking the ground beneath their feet. Until they reached the street again. They crashed into the ground with bone-shattering force. The earth beneath them buckled, splintered, and cracked open as though it couldn't bear the weight of the collision. A massive crater formed upon impact, its edges jagged and uneven, as if the very ground itself had been torn apart by the sheer force. Dust, debris, and shattered concrete shot into the air, filling the scene with a haze of chaos.

The shockwave rippled outward, slamming into nearby cars and sending them tumbling like toys. Some rolled on their sides, others were thrown yards away, their alarms blaring in a discordant symphony as they skidded across the pavement. The surrounding buildings trembled from the shock, windows shattered, and pedestrians screamed as the street was consumed by the aftermath of the collision.

Deven gritted his teeth, his eyes locked on the demon. It was strong, but it was slow compared to him. Every move it made was predictable, and Deven read it like a book. 

They both left the building they were in. Deven pushed aside the debris in his way.

"I am not paying for all this!" Deven yelled at the demon "So do me a favour and just die"

" We are causing too much damage to the city" Deven thought "It's a miracle no one is dead yet. I need to end this fast." 

Without warning, he dashed forward, grabbing a car that had been parked nearby. He lifted it effortlessly and hurled it at the demon. The car slammed into the The demon staggered but didn't fall.

It heaved itself up, a monster of wings and claws, eyes burning hell-red. Each savage roar from its throat rattled the broken windows around them, sending civilians diving for cover behind abandoned cars and shattered storefronts.

Deven narrowed his gaze. He could see it — the man was gone. Only the demon remained.

"He's lost all sense of reason," Deven thought grimly, already moving. "The demon's completely taken over."

The creature charged with a feral roar, claws carving through the air like cleavers. Deven weaved through the strikes, the wind from each blow slicing across his face.

Then he struck.

A snap-kick to the demon's chest — a direct hit that caved in the asphalt under their feet and hurled the beast back twenty feet, crashing into a row of parked cars. Metal crumpled like paper.

Civilians screamed and scattered in terror.

The demon scrambled up with a furious snarl, but Deven was already there — closing the distance like a missile. They collided in a brutal exchange of blows: Deven's fists cracked like gunfire, each hit slamming into the creature with bone-shattering force. The demon lashed back, claws slashing wild — but Deven ducked, twisted, countered with a ruthless elbow to the throat.

The demon reeled.

Deven grabbed it by the shoulder and heaved it overhead, slamming it into the side of a high-rise. The concrete caved inward, spraying dust and steel across the street. Alarms shrieked from wrecked cars.

But the demon wasn't finished.

Its wings snapped open with a thunderclap, and with a single mighty beat, it launched itself into the air — an explosion of rubble and glass trailing behind it.

Deven didn't hesitate.

He sprinted up a toppled bus, kicked off a crushed SUV, and launched himself into the sky — twisting his body mid-air to meet the monster head-on.

The collision was cataclysmic.

They slammed into each other like twin meteors, the shockwave flattening nearby streetlights and shattering the windows of every building on the block. Debris rained down like deadly hail.

Fists collided with fists. Claws tore through air inches from Deven's face. Every strike was thunderous, as if the air itself were splitting apart.

Deven ducked a brutal swing, seized the demon's arm, and — with a roar — dislocated the beast's shoulder in a single twisting motion.

The demon howled in agony.

Deven pressed the advantage, delivering a devastating heel-kick into the demon's ribcage, sending it spiraling across four lanes of traffic, smashing through a bus stop and burying itself in the wall of a pharmacy.

Civilians fled in every direction, the city descending into chaos.

The demon tried to rise, wings flailing uselessly.

Deven wasn't about to let it.

He sprinted — the ground buckling under each step — and leapt high into the air. Gravity itself seemed to hesitate as he brought his full weight down.

His boot crashed into the demon's chest with an earth-shaking boom.

Bones splintered. The pavement cratered beneath them. The demon's shriek was brief — cut off as its body finally gave out, collapsing into a pile of crushed bone, burnt flesh, and smoldering ruin.

Silence fell like a blanket.

Deven stood over the wreckage, chest rising and falling steadily, not a hint of exhaustion in his stance.

The only sound now was the faint hiss of the ocean breeze and distant sirens wailing through the ruined cityscape.

Without looking back, Deven turned.

The fight had dragged him blocks away from where it had all started. His jaw set. Sophie was still waiting.

He moved.

A blur of motion — buildings and wreckage flashing past in a smeared rush — his sheer velocity tearing cracks into the asphalt as he ran.

He reached the villa in seconds.

Sophie was there — huddled against the mangled railing, blood streaked across her forehead but alive.

Deven slowed to a halt, crouching down beside her.

His hand extended, steady. His voice, softer now. "You're safe."

She looked up, eyes wide with shock and relief.

"T-Thank you..." she whispered.

Deven didn't smile. He simply nodded, pulling her gently to her feet.

"No need to thank me," he said quietly, voice low and rough.

He glanced at the wreckage behind them.

"Just stay down next time."

creature's chest with enough force to shatter concrete.

"Well, you didn't need our help," one of the hunters said, laughing awkwardly.

"Seriously. What were we even doing here?" another muttered under his breath.

"That's a 6th Mark hunter for you," a third added, still a little wide-eyed. "Vanguards are only one rank below from the top, but every last one of them is terrifying."

"Especially this guy. Rumour has that he qualifies to be an Apostle, The seventh and final rank hunter but he never takes the promotion"

The sound of sirens wailed closer. Within minutes, paramedics flooded the villa, snapping open kits and securing the scene with an efficiency born from too much experience.

Sophie was bundled gently onto a stretcher, her face pale, her hands trembling despite the reassurances whispered in her ear. A medic leaned over her, shining a light into her eyes, checking for deeper damage.

"I hope she's okay," Deven said quietly, watching her.

"She'll be fine," someone answered nearby. "Neck wound missed the major arteries. Lucky."

Deven nodded absently.

But luck had nothing to do with it.

Physical wounds—they were easy. You stitched them up. You dosed them with painkillers. You moved on.

But the mind?

The mind didn't heal on command.

He could already see it happening to Sophie, the way it had happened before.

The way it had happened to his sister.

The way laughter would turn hollow.

The way crowds would feel suffocating.

The way every kind word would be suspect, every glance a threat.

The world would never feel safe again.

And no amount of surgery, stitches, or whispered assurances could fix that.

Deven tore his eyes away, forcing himself to focus.

"Can we get the deeds?" he asked, voice tighter than he intended.

"Host was John Radcliffe. Forty-five. Real estate mogul. Rich enough to make problems disappear. Scumbag enough to create new ones. Lured underage girls into his parties with promises—Chanel bags, Louis Vuitton heels, all that garbage."

The hunter's voice darkened. "When Sophie said no, he snapped. Forced a transformation on the spot."

Deven's jaw tightened.

"When was he possessed?" he asked.

"Best guess? Last January. He was bleeding money—five-year losses. Then boom. Two weeks later, not just afloat, but profitable. Guess demons make good accountants."

Deven exhaled through his nose."No wife? Kids?"

"They bailed when the debts started crushing him."

Of course they did.

Deven looked over at Sophie again—small, fragile, broken in ways she didn't even know yet.

"We'll wrap up here," the other hunter said, resting a hand on Deven's shoulder. "You go ahead and get some rest, Captain."

Rest.

Right.

Deven turned away without answering, the weight of it all pressing harder against his ribs.

"Thanks guys"

Deven walked away without another word.

King's Residence.

Houston, Texas.

4 Hours Later.

Deven shoved open the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

Something was wrong.

The place was a mess — overturned furniture, shattered glass glittering on the floor, papers scattered everywhere like a storm had ripped through. His instincts flared instantly.

Slowly, silently, Deven drew his revolver.

He scanned the room, every muscle in his body tight.

"Sam?" he called out, voice low and cautious.

No answer.

But he could feel it — a presence.

Not Sam.

And not human.

A cold knot twisted in his gut.

He moved deeper into the apartment, every step calculated. His boots crunched broken glass underfoot. The air felt heavy, wrong, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

"Where the hell are you, Sam..."

Deven's mind raced.

He always knew this could happen.

He just didn't think it would be this soon.

She wasn't even awakened yet — just a normal girl by all appearances. Why would a demon target her now?

Why now?

A flash of white caught his eye — a single piece of paper pinned beneath a shattered picture frame.

Deven approached it slowly, revolver still raised, heart hammering against his ribs.

He knelt. Picked it up.

It was handwritten. Sloppy. Rushed.

He picked it up and read it.

Dear deven,

Dear Deven,

I'm sorry for leaving without saying goodbye.

Something happened — something I can't even explain in a way that would make sense. I was taken. They were going to use me for something horrible... but someone saved me.

His name is Sammael. He said he's an angel. He... he protected me when no one else could.

I know the truth now. About demons. About hunters.

About you.

Please don't be angry. I had to leave. Sammael said it wasn't safe for me here anymore.

He's taking me somewhere called the Artemis Headquarters in Europe.

He said they can help me — teach me how to survive.

I don't know when I'll be able to see you again.

But I'll be okay.

I promise.

Please trust me.

I love you.

— Sam

Deven stood frozen, the note crumpling slightly in his hand as his grip tightened.

The apartment seemed to spin around him.

"Sammael."

He said the name aloud, tasting it like blood in his mouth.

He didn't know whether to be relieved that Sam was alive... or furious that someone had dragged her into the very world he'd spent years trying to keep her away from.

Europe.

Artemis HQ.

Supernatural politics.

Demons.

War.

She was in the thick of it now. And whether she liked it or not, so was he.

Deven slid the revolver back into its holster and turned toward the door.

His eyes were cold. Focused.

He had a sister to find.

And maybe, just maybe, a few monsters to kill along the way.

Deven set the letter down on the counter, his mind already in motion.

He didn't need to think about it. No time for hesitation. No time for planning. Sam was out there, and she was in danger. His pulse quickened as his thoughts flashed like fire through his head:

Get to her. Get her back. Don't let anyone—anything—hurt her.

Deven moved swiftly.

His eyes scanned the apartment, but nothing felt right. The clutter. The smell of stale air and old whiskey. His things were scattered, like remnants of a life that didn't matter anymore. His whole world had just been turned upside down.

He strode to the closet, ripping open the door.

His fingers moved through the rows of gear like they were second nature, retrieving everything he needed in mere moments. He could hear the clock ticking louder now.

A few bags.

His boots.

Weapons.

The revolver, a part of him, clicked into place with a satisfying sound.

A blade.

Throwing knives.

A hidden stash of vials filled with substances he never fully explained to anyone. Just in case.

He didn't care about how long it would take to get there.

He didn't care about anything except finding his sister.

The world, the supernatural world, had come crashing into their lives. And Deven was going to drag Sam out of it — whether she liked it or not.

The airport, then a flight.

A storm was coming, he could feel it in his gut. And Europe? That was going to be a war zone.

Deven grabbed a weathered map of Europe off the wall. His finger traced the route from the airport in Paris to the Artemis HQ in southern France. His instincts told him that getting there wouldn't be easy. There'd be demons, hunters, and anyone else who might want Sam for reasons he couldn't even begin to imagine.

He grabbed his jacket from the chair and slid it on, a moment of silence between him and the empty room, as if he were saying goodbye to his past life — or maybe just leaving it behind. There was no room for the old Deven anymore.

No time to mourn. No time to ask questions.

His phone buzzed, and he didn't need to look. It was probably another damn news feed alert about some demon attack or supernatural nonsense. He could feel it — the pull of it all. The supernatural world was growing, and he'd always been just a piece of it. Now, it was personal.

He took one last look around the apartment.

"I'll fix this."

The words were a promise. A vow. To himself. To Sam. To everything he believed in.

With a determined breath, he grabbed his bag, zipped it up, and strode toward the door.

He was gone before the clock could finish its tick.

Deven's footsteps echoed down the hallway, his mind far from the road ahead. His thoughts kept circling back to the letter.

Sammael.

He knew the name — but only in the context of grimoires. Old, worn pages filled with stories of fallen angels and cosmic battles, of beings far above human understanding. He'd read about angels before. The good, the bad, and the ones who didn't give a damn about either side. They were like gods to humans—impossible to truly understand. But Sammael? This one was different. The name carried weight. Power. And there was something... off about it.

An angel who rescues her?

Why?

Deven's grip tightened on the steering wheel. Sammael wasn't just some celestial being. He was the type of entity that angels only whispered about in the dark corners of Heaven. A fallen angel, the kind that had already given up on their own kind and embraced something... darker.

Deven wasn't sure how much of the mythology about angels was true, but he knew enough to be cautious. His whole life had been dedicated to hunting demons, to understanding how to outsmart them, destroy them, survive them. But angels? Those were a different breed. He'd never faced one. And now he was supposed to trust one with his sister's life?

This could be a trap.

His stomach twisted. He didn't know Sammael. Hell, he didn't even know if he could trust Sammael's motivations. Sammael had saved Samantha from a sacrifice — something Deven did believe — but why had he taken her to Europe? What could an angel, a fallen one at that, want with her? If he was trying to protect her... why didn't he come to Deven first?

It doesn't add up.

And that nagging feeling, that cold itch at the back of his mind, only grew stronger the more he thought about it. He knew how demons operated — with their temptations, their deals, their lies. They promised power, but it always came with a price. Was Sammael any different? Was this some new kind of manipulation, wearing the guise of an angel to trick them all?

Deven glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes sharpening. The night was dark, the road ahead a winding path to an unknown future.

But that was the thing about angels, right? Their motives were never clear. They were beyond human comprehension. Heaven and Hell might have been black-and-white, but angels? They existed in the gray. The real danger was in their unpredictability.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. The one thing Deven had learned in his life was that he couldn't afford to be naïve. This wasn't a fairy tale. Sammael wasn't some benevolent protector. Deven had spent too long hunting demons and watching their deceitful games to think any angel was above suspicion.

I can't trust him.

He thought of Samantha again. The weight in his chest grew heavier. His baby sister, trapped in a world she didn't understand, relying on some angel for protection. His stomach twisted, a mixture of anger and helplessness. He didn't care how powerful Sammael was. He didn't care if the angel could level entire cities with a thought.

He's not getting her. Not without a fight.

Deven knew what he had to do. He couldn't trust Sammael, but he would go through Hell and high water to make sure Samantha was safe. If Sammael was a problem, Deven would handle it. One way or another.

The road stretched ahead. And for the first time in a long while, Deven didn't know what was coming next.