The scars from the accident and the creature in the alley still haunted Daytona's mind, but that morning in Los Angeles felt too normal. Birds were singing, neighbors arguing about cars, and Martin was frying eggs with soft instrumental jazz playing on the radio.
— Finally got a full night's sleep — he said, serving two plates. — No "demonic dream" this time?
She accepted the plate with a weak smile.
— No… and for some reason that makes me even more nervous.
Martin sat with his plate.
— Maybe that's what you need. A truce. Not everything has to be a war all the time, Daytona.
She looked at her fork. Memories of what she'd felt in the alley flashed for a moment, but she pushed them away.
— Yeah. Maybe…
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Daytona noticed something odd: a black SUV with dark tinted windows parked on the street behind their house. The same vehicle she'd seen near the convenience store two days ago.
She stood quietly and walked to the living room window.
— Martin… do you know anyone who drives a black SUV with mirror tint?
— No… why?
— Because it's been parked there longer than seems normal. And it looks… familiar.
Martin approached, but the car was already pulling away, turning the corner.
— Could be paranoia — he said.
— Maybe — replied Daytona. But she didn't believe it.
A few hours later, in Silver Lake.
Martin and Daytona walked through a street fair, trying to pretend things were normal. Used books, vintage movie posters, incense stalls. Everything looked so ordinary. So… vulnerable.
— Look at this — Martin said, stopping in front of a stand selling old movie posters. There was a faded Nosferatu poster.
— A monster that lives in the shadows, drains your vitality. Almost poetic, huh? — he joked.
Daytona forced a smile. But she felt a chill in her spine when she saw a man standing a few meters away, wearing a cap and dark glasses. He had a camera and took a photo in her direction.
— Martin… — she whispered.
The man turned and disappeared into the crowd.
Daytona ran after him but lost him after a few blocks. Her heart raced — not from fear. From alert. Something was wrong.
Belzebub (in her mind):
— You're being watched. And not by us. That smell… isn't demonic. It's fanaticism. Humans hunting what they don't understand.
— Great. Now it's not just monsters who want me dead — she murmured.
That night, back at the house.
They had used furniture to block doors and windows. Lights off. Silence. Both sat on the living room floor, tense.
— I know that look — Martin said. — It's the same one you had when you sensed something was going to happen.
— And something almost always did.
Martin placed a knife by his leg.
— You think they'll try again tonight?
— If they're who I think they are… yes. They're not observers. They believe I'm… an abomination.
Martin tried to hide his discomfort.
— You're still you, Daytona. No matter what's inside you.
She wanted to believe it. But she wasn't sure.
Midnight.
Glass shattered.
Daytona sprang to her feet. Martin rushed in from the kitchen with a knife.
Two men broke in through the back window, wearing black vests and gloves. One carried a taser; the other a dart gun.
Daytona dodged the darts with lightning reflexes. One attacker shouted:
— The girl is the vessel. Confirmed. Bring her alive.
Martin tried to fight the second attacker but was quickly knocked down. Daytona jumped on the first and shattered his jaw with her knee. The other fired a dart into her shoulder.
She dropped to her knees as the poison entered her bloodstream.
Belzebub:
— Don't use my power yet. You can win this on your own. Show you're more than hunger.
She fought through the pain. Using her knife dropped by Martin, she slashed the attacker's leg, bringing him down. In seconds, both intruders lay unconscious.
Daytona caught her breath and grabbed one man's camera. Turning it on, she saw dozens of photos of her, Martin and… Ghost.
Yes. Ghost was also a target.
— They knew — she panted. — They're hunting us.
Martin, with a small cut on his face, breathed fast.
— Who are they?
— I don't know — Daytona said — but they think I'm a prophecy… a freak. And they want to study me or destroy me.
Belzebub:
— This is just the beginning, Daytona. The real world won't accept what you are. Get ready. The road is about to burn.
Morning.
The air over Los Angeles was heavier than normal. Clouds covered the sky, and a dense fog lingered between buildings, as if the city itself tried to shield Daytona from what was coming.
She felt everything differently now. Not just physically, but… in layers. As if her eyes perceived cracks in the world. Invisible fissures she couldn't see before. The sound of tires, paint creaking on the wall, even the sound of Martin's skin rubbing against the couch. Everything seemed amplified.
She was changing again.
— Did you sleep? — Martin asked, exhaustion etched on his face.
— No. I heard… things.
Martin looked at her, concerned. He'd learned not to doubt Daytona, even when things seemed impossible.
— Things like…?
She hesitated.
— Like someone calling my name… through the walls. The electrical wiring. Even the water in the sink. It's not Belzebub. It's different. More… human.
Martin swallowed.
— You're hearing voices?
She met his gaze.
— If I'd said that two weeks ago, you'd call me crazy. Now I saved you from two zealots with a tranquilizer. So maybe we should rethink what crazy means.
He nodded, silent.
Afternoon.
Daytona stood atop an abandoned building, broken windows reflecting the gray sky. She saw shapes moving in the city's haze. Maybe they were there. Or maybe they waited for the right moment.
Belzebub (in her mind):
— You're between worlds, Daytona. Not yet one of us, but you don't belong to them either. You're in the cracks. Where anything is possible, but nothing is trustworthy.
She sighed. Somehow, Belzebub felt… more understanding today. Less predator, more guide.
— Did you know they would come?
— I knew the world would react. The body rejects what it doesn't understand. Society too.
She leaned against the cold wall.
— And that voice calling me… it's more human than you.
— Perhaps. Or maybe it's a part of you trying to emerge. A version of Daytona you left behind.
Daytona fell silent. She hated how that made sense.
Later that night.
She and Martin returned to a roadside hotel for safety. No sign of Ghost. No messages. Just the stale silence of a tired structure smelling of mold and burnt coffee.
Then the radio turned on by itself. A static-filled signal filled the room, followed by a crackling voice, as if speaking from another frequency.
RADIO VOICE (metallic, distorted):
— D… ytona…
Martin recoiled instinctively. Daytona stood frozen.
— Did you hear that?
The static rose, as if being choked.
VOICE:
— You're… not… safe… The Hunter… is coming.
She approached the radio. The sound stopped. Everything went quiet.
Martin unplugged it.
— This is beyond strange now.
Daytona glanced at him.
— This isn't delusion. Someone's trying to communicate. And what if they're like me?
Martin took a deep breath.
— What if it's a trap?
She smirked.
— Then we fall into it in style.
Night.
Following coordinates from a mysterious note slipped under the door, they went to an old covered parking garage downtown. It was empty. Lights broken. Smelled of rust and oil.
Daytona sensed the presence before she saw him.
A man wearing a dark trench coat, his skin scarred and his eyes hollow. He held a spear forged from bone that didn't seem human.
— Daytona.
She stepped forward. Martin stood behind, ready to run or fight.
— Who are you?
— I am what remains of the last vessel. — His voice was deep and hoarse, like a cavern speaking.
She widened her eyes.
— You were also… touched by a demon?
— No. I was one. Until I learned to master hunger. And freed myself from possession.
Belzebub whispered inside her mind:
— He lies.
— Then why summon me?
The man lifted the spear.
— Because you need to learn what happens when you walk this path too long.
He attacked without warning.
Daytona dodged at the last second, her instincts exploding. The spear struck the concrete, cracking the floor.
She punched him in the chest with all her strength, but it was like hitting a wall.
Martin screamed and threw a metal bar, but the man shattered it with one hand.
— You're already rotten inside — he said, raising the spear.
Belzebub:
— Now, Daytona. Use the flesh.
She focused. An extra arm sprouted from her back, knocking the man away with brutality.
He fell, but smiled with blood on his teeth.
— Good… you are nearly ready.
Daytona advanced, but he vanished like dust in the wind.
She stood there, heart pounding in the silence.
Martin approached.
— Was that real?
She looked to where he had disappeared. The spear lay on the ground. Heavy. Stained with a blood that didn't evaporate.
— Real enough.