Tony stood frozen, his body trembling as he watched the sky rain destruction upon the city. Buildings crumbled, fire engulfed the streets, and the screams of the dying filled the air. The acrid stench of burning wood and flesh overwhelmed his senses. He wanted to run, to hide, but fear had paralyzed him, leaving him rooted to the ground, helpless.
Then, in the reflection of a shattered glass window, he saw himself—or rather, something that looked like him but was far more terrifying. The figure wore a sinister grin, its eyes void of warmth, dripping with malice. Blood stained its entire body, seeping from its hands as if it had torn through flesh only moments ago.
"The time has come," the reflection spoke, its voice cold and menacing. "Join us. Let us take over this world together."
Tony's breath hitched. "No, no, no... This can't be happening," he stammered, his legs giving way beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, eyes darting to the ground. A sea of lifeless bodies lay before him, their expressions frozen in terror. Among them, he recognized one—his uncle, Jack Maxson. His uncle's arm had been torn from his body, blood pooling around him.
With a strangled gasp, Tony shot up from his bed, drenched in sweat. His heart pounded violently against his ribs. Gulping for air, he stumbled toward the bathroom, splashing cold water onto his face before gripping the sink's edge. He lifted his gaze to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him—normal this time. A young, tall boy with fair skin, sharp features, and deep-set eyes. His name was Tony Maxson.
The sudden creak of his bedroom door made him turn. A man stepped inside, his face etched with years of experience and exhaustion. He appeared to be in his late fifties, his gray hair neatly combed back. His piercing blue eyes held a hardened intensity, his face wrinkled like aged leather. Dressed in a red shirt and black trousers, he exuded an aura of authority. This was Jack Maxson, Tony's uncle.
His expression twisted in frustration, his brows furrowed, his face red with anger. "Why are you still here? Aren't you supposed to be at school by now?" His voice was sharp, commanding, his eyes burning with irritation.
Tony swallowed hard. "O-okay," he muttered.
Ten minutes later, freshly dressed, he stepped out of the house. The morning air was crisp, but the remnants of his nightmare clung to him like a shadow. With his bag slung over his shoulder, he started walking. The school wasn't far—just ten blocks away—but each step felt heavier than the last.
His mind was clouded with unease. The dream had felt too real. Was it just a nightmare, or was it something more?
His mind was clouded with unease. The dream had felt too real. Was it just a nightmare, or was it something more?
"Why is this happening to me?" Tony muttered, his thoughts swirling. "It's normal to have nightmares once or twice, but not three imes in a row. Is this some kind of message, otr is something about to happen to me?" He stroked his chin thoughtfully as he walked, lost in his thoughts.
Before he could think further, two familiar figures blocked his path—Timmy and Jack, the bullies who never missed an opportunity to torment him. They grabbed him and dragged him into a secluded alley.
"Give us your money now," Timmy demanded.
"I don't have any money," Tony replied, his voice steady but his eyes dark and cold as he met Timmy's gaze.
"You'll regret this if you don't hand over your cash," Timmy warned, cracking his knuckles.
"I told you, I don't have any," Tony insisted.
"We warned ya," Jack sneered.
Timmy grabbed Tony while Jack punched him repeatedly. Pain erupted across Tony's face and body until everything went black.
When Tony regained consciousness, he found himself standing over the two bullies, his arms covered in blood. A sinister smile stretched across his face—eerily reminiscent of the clown from IT. His breathing hitched as he glanced down at them. Timmy's face was swollen beyond recognition, and Jack's legs looked broken at unnatural angles.
Fear gripped Tony as he stumbled back. What had happened? What had he done?
Without wasting another second, he turned and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. When he finally reached school, he darted into the bathroom, washing his face and hands, desperately scrubbing away the bloodstains.
After composing himself, he headed to class, taking his seat just as the teacher entered with a new student.
"Take your seats, everyone. Today, we have a new classmate. She is a transfer student from Arch Grade School. You may come in now."
The girl stepped inside, hesitating slightly before speaking. "M-my name is Cara Andreas. Nice to meet you all."
The room fell silent as the students stared at her, some intrigued, others indifferent.
"You can take a seat," the teacher instructed.
"Okay." She walked over and sat beside Tony. Students whispered amongst themselves—some eager to befriend her, while others watched, waiting for the right moment to approach.
Tony, however, barely paid attention. His mind was still racing. What was happening to him?
As the lesson began, he clenched his fists under the desk, a lingering sense of unease creeping over him. The nightmares, the fight, the blood—was it all connected? Or was something darker lurking beneath his consciousness, waiting to take over? Tony, however, barely paid attention. His mind was still racing. What was happening to him?
Later that day, Tony hurried toward the bathroom when something caught his eye. He stopped, pressing himself against the wall, trying to stay hidden.
Not far from the abandoned classroom, in a dimly lit corner, he saw them—two boys and a girl. As his vision adjusted, he recognized the two boys—James and Henry, notorious bullies. They were cornering Cara, their body language predatory, their smirks cruel.
Tony's hands clenched into fists. A surge of anger bubbled inside him, but he hesitated. He couldn't afford to get into another fight—not after what had happened earlier. If he intervened, he risked expulsion. But could he really just walk away?
"Stop!" Tony's voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
James sneered. "Or else what?"
"I'll report you to a teacher."
"Go ahead, try it," Henry taunted, continuing to harass Cara.
Tony's patience snapped. Without thinking, he swung a fist straight into Henry's face. The impact triggered an all-out brawl.
Henry reeled back before growling, "You little—" He retaliated with a punch to Tony's face. James joined in, both of them throwing relentless blows.
"Please, stop!" Cara pleaded, her voice desperate.
Minutes later, Tony's vision blurred, and his world faded to black.
When he woke, it was the same as before. He stood, his hands soaked in blood. A dark, chilling smile stretched across his face. James and Henry lay on the ground, battered and broken. Cara trembled, her hands shaking as she stared at him in horror.
Tony staggered back, heart pounding. He ran—straight to the bathroom, scrubbing at his hands as panic consumed him.
Suddenly, the room darkened. A strange sound echoed through the space, sending shivers down his spine. His legs shook as he followed the eerie noise. It led him to one of the stalls. He hesitated before slowly pushing the door open.
From within, his dark reflection emerged, but this time, it was alive.
"The time has come," it whispered.
Tony's breath caught in his throat. Desperate, he squeezed his eyes shut, willing it all to be a hallucination. When he opened them again, the reflection was back to normal.
Meanwhile, somewhere in Las Vegas...
Near an old, abandoned building on one of the quieter streets, a gang known as the Bulls gathered, plotting their next move. Their target? The infamous Red Hood gang, known for vandalizing government property and running illegal activities. Red Hood was one of the most feared gangs in the city, and the Bulls sought to take them down to gain dominance.
The rivalry between the two gangs had begun when a Red Hood member brutally beat up one of the Bulls. From that moment, a cycle of revenge had begun, and tonight, the Bulls planned to strike back. Their leader, a ruthless man named Kazy, addressed his crew, explaining their strategy.
Before he could finish, however, members of the Red Hood gang emerged from the shadows, weapons drawn.
"How the fuck did you dickheads get here?" Kazy spat, his grip tightening around his own weapon.
"It's time to end this," the leader of the Red Hood gang declared.
Gunfire erupted, and chaos unfolded in the dark alley.
Meanwhile, in New Orleans...
In a small suburban house, a heated argument broke out between a mother and her son. The living room was painted white and light blue, a ceiling fan whirring lazily above. A television sat against one wall, and four couches—three small and one large—filled the space.
"Mom, I told you, I don't want to do it!" the boy shouted, his face contorted in frustration.
"You have to! You're going to march up to those kids next time you see them and apologize!" his mother snapped, her face turning red with anger.
"No! They deserved it!" The boy's voice grew more aggressive, his hands clenched into fists.
"Don't you ever talk to me like that again!" she scolded, her fury unwavering.
The tension in the room thickened, neither willing to back down.
She slowly walked out of the room.
Somewhere in England
Atticus sat down on a nearby seat, trying to process what had just happened. He put both hands on his head, his mind clouded with rage and sadness. Memories of the time he had spent with her flooded his thoughts, growing more intense with each passing second. The overwhelming emotions built up inside him, creating a strange energy.
And then—he snapped.
The entire building exploded.
Everyone inside was killed instantly. Ashley, who was just about to step out, wasn't lucky enough to escape. The explosion engulfed her. Yet, despite the destruction, Atticus remained unscathed—not a single scratch on him.
Somewhere in Ireland
A group of scientists sat glued to their computers, their eyes bloodshot from sleepless nights. They had been working tirelessly, searching for their former test subject. Suddenly, one of them spoke up.
"Sir, we found them."
The chief lab technician, exhausted but relieved, let out a deep breath. "Finally. We found them."
Without wasting a second, he walked to the office of the lab's owner. The room was spacious, almost like an apartment, with a massive TV, four couches, a large ceiling fan at the center, and an office desk with a chair.
"Sir, we found them," he announced.
"Show me their location—now."
The lab technician handed him an iPad. A map appeared on the screen, displaying live locations. Images of Tony, Ashley, and a few other students popped up.
"Finally," the man muttered with a smirk. "We got them."
Back in the Classroom
Tony hurried back to class. The teacher was in the middle of explaining the most exciting part of the lesson when Tony barged in.
Annoyed, the teacher sighed and turned to him. "What took you so long?"
"Nothing, sir," Tony replied without hesitation. "You can have your seat," the teacher said.
Tony walked back to his seat and sat down.
Later That Day...
As he walked home from school, his mind refused to accept everything that had been happening to him over the past few days. The confusion weighed on him, and suddenly, a sharp headache struck. His vision blurred, and fragmented memories resurfaced—memories from when he was unconscious.
It was hazy, but he remembered.
A dark reflection of himself had taken over his body, moving on its own while he was unconscious. That twisted, cold smile stretched across its face. His eyes—no, its eyes—glowed a deep, menacing red. Its entire face was shadowed, unclear, almost as if it wasn't fully human anymore.
And then, it moved.
It spun toward one of the bullies, faster than anything imaginable. In the blink of an eye, it had fractured James' legs. The sickening crack echoed through the air. It laughed—a chilling, unsettling sound that grew louder with each second. Then, it grabbed Henry's hands and snapped them like twigs. Henry's screams only seemed to fuel its enjoyment.
The creature staggered as if it were drunk, its movements unnatural. Then, it began to jump erratically, laughing maniacally.
Its glowing red eyes locked onto another boy who had already lost consciousness.
"You're a freak!" Henry whimpered, fear gripping his voice.
"Yes… call me more names. I need more."
It grinned wider, feeding off the fear in Henry's eyes. It wanted more.
Walking toward Henry, it punched him repeatedly in the jaw until his body went limp.
"You're giving up on me so soon? Oh well..." it muttered, almost disappointed, as if it wanted to keep playing.
Cara, paralyzed by fear, struggled to stand. Her voice trembled as she cried for help, but no one came.
"Please… don't hurt me," she pleaded, her hands shaking.
It stepped toward her, raising its fist, ready to strike.
But then—Tony woke up.
He blinked.
Cara had braced herself for the impact, hands shielding her face, expecting to be beaten. But nothing happened. Slowly, she opened her eyes, realizing that Tony was back in control.
And then—another memory struck him like a lightning bolt.
The first time he had blacked out… it had happened again.
That same dark reflection had surfaced. The world around him had faded into pitch-black nothingness. A distant scream echoed through the void, growing louder and louder, until it became unbearable. The two bullies who tormented him every day had been terrified, unable to comprehend what was happening.
At some point, they couldn't take it anymore—they ran.
But one of them hesitated.
Something inside him—maybe guilt—made him turn back. He saw Tony standing there, unmoving, as if possessed. Hesitantly, he stepped closer, determined to apologize.
But then… he saw it.
A dark energy surged through Tony's body. It crackled and pulsed like a living entity. Fear gripped the boy, but he still inched forward, hoping for a chance to make things right.
Then, he made a mistake.
He reached out—just barely touched Tony's shoulder—
And it turned.
That same eerie smile stretched across its face.
It was angry. Yet, it smiled.
Tony's face had completely vanished into darkness.
The boy stood frozen in terror.
And then—
It raised its bare hands.
With a swift motion, it stabbed Jack in the stomach. The blade tore through his organs, sending searing pain through his body. Blood pooled around him as his breathing grew shallow. His eyes widened in shock, his lips trembling as life slowly drained from him.
Timmy watched in horror as Jack bled out, his death slow and agonizing. Panic surged through him, and he sprinted toward his friend, desperate to save him.
But he was too late.
By the time he reached Jack, his body had already gone still. His once-warm skin had turned pale and lifeless. Timmy dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he pressed his fingers to Jack's pulse point—nothing. No heartbeat. No breath.
A chill ran down his spine, gripping him like ice. His legs felt weak, barely able to support him as he collapsed to the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision. His chest ached, his throat tightened.
He grabbed Jack's shoulders and shook him desperately.
"Wake up! You can't die here! Get up, damn it! Jack!!!"
He flipped Jack over, only to see the horrifying hole in his stomach. His gut twisted at the sight, nausea threatening to overtake him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay composed.
Then his sorrow turned to rage.
"You're going to pay for this!" Timmy screamed as he charged toward the creature.
But before he could even register what had happened, a sharp pain shot through his arms.
Snap!
His bones shattered in an instant, his limbs twisted unnaturally. The pain was unbearable. His vision blurred, and before he could even curse, his body crumpled to the ground. His head hit the cold, bloodstained floor.
Then—darkness.
He lost consciousness.
The creature let out a satisfied chuckle. "Finally... I'm back."
It took a step forward, but before it could do anything else, Tony's consciousness snapped back.
Everything that had happened while he was unconscious flooded his mind. The memories hit him like a tidal wave—Jack's gruesome death, Timmy's shattered arms, the screams, the pain, the thing that had taken over his body.
Terror gripped him.
His breath quickened. His chest rose and fell erratically. He turned and bolted, sprinting home as fast as his legs could carry him.
At Home
He slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it. His hands shook violently as he clutched his head, trying to make sense of what he had become. His face turned red, his eyes darting around the room in panic.
What am I?
His laptop sat on his desk, the screen still glowing from when he had left it on earlier. Desperation took over as he flung himself into the chair and frantically typed into the search bar:
"Signs of possession."
Dozens of results popped up. His eyes darted from one link to another. He skimmed through the symptoms—unnatural strength, loss of control, eerie laughter, blackened eyes.
It all fits.
His stomach dropped. He had to be possessed. There was no other explanation.
He searched again:
"Exorcists near me."
Finally, he found one.
Dan's Exorcist Shop.
It was nearby. Without hesitation, he threw on his shoes and dashed out the door, running as fast as he could.
Dan's Exorcist Shop
The place looked abandoned.
The roof was rusted, the wooden door barely holding together, though surprisingly still able to lock. Above the entrance, a faded sign read in bold letters:
"Dan's Exorcist Shop"
The eerie atmosphere made the place feel haunted rather than holy.
Swallowing his fear, Tony stepped inside.
Dust coated every surface. The air smelled musty, thick with an unidentifiable scent. Strange, dark artifacts lined the shelves and walls—objects that seemed ancient, almost cursed.
A man emerged from a back room.
He was dressed in a black robe and dark trousers, a towel wrapped tightly around his head. His face was shadowed, unreadable.
He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as he took a slow drag.
"Welcome to Dan's Exorcist Shop. How can I help you?" he asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
Tony hesitated. His heart pounded.
"I… I need to see the exorcist," he said, his voice laced with uncertainty.
The man raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly.
"I am the exorcist," he replied, taking another drag of his cigarette. His sharp gaze never left Tony.
Tony's stomach tightened.
Something about this place felt off.
Tony stared at Dan in disbelief. This guy? He didn't look anything like the exorcists Tony had seen in movies or read about. But still, something about him felt... experienced.
"Something strange has been happening to me recently," Tony started, his voice low but firm. "It feels like... like it wants something. Like it's trying to come out, but it doesn't know how—except when I'm unconscious."
Dan exhaled a long stream of smoke, unimpressed.
"It's trying to tell me something, but I don't understand what. Not that I care—I just want it gone because every time it takes over, it hurts people. And one day... one day, it might hurt someone I actually care about."
Dan scoffed, shaking his head. He'd heard this kind of thing before. Kids getting all worked up over some nightmare, thinking they were haunted. Most of the time, it was just their imagination playing tricks on them.
"Is this some kind of joke?" Dan asked, narrowing his eyes. "Did someone put you up to this?"
Tony clenched his fists. "No, I'm serious."
"Kid, it's probably just your mind messing with you. Guilt, stress, bad dreams... happens to everyone. Nothing's wrong with you."
Tony leaned forward, desperation creeping into his voice. "Please. Just check. I know I'm not normal."
Dan sighed, rubbing his temple. "Go home, kid."
Tony hesitated, then said the one thing that could change Dan's mind.
"What if I said I'd pay you?"
Dan raised an eyebrow, then stroked his chin. After a moment, he smirked.
"Alright. Have a seat."
He dusted off a wooden chair and gestured for Tony to sit.
"Let's begin. Do you know what triggers it?" Dan asked as he leaned against the counter.
"I think... fear and pain."
"Do you know what it wants? Or how it feels?"
Tony hesitated. "Weirdly, yes. It feels happy and angry at the same time. But I don't know what it actually wants. Although... I have been having strange dreams lately."
Dan's curiosity piqued. "Tell me about these dreams."
Tony frowned. "I wish I could, but I can't remember them."
Dan nodded, as if that confirmed something. "Alright, let's try something."
He walked to the center of the room and started drawing a large, intricate circle on the floor. Strange symbols lined the edges, some appearing ancient and unreadable. The writing was in Greek, though Tony couldn't make out what it said. Dan placed candles around the circle, lighting each one before stepping back.
"Okay, we're going to perform a test," Dan said. "I need you to sit in this chair. Once you're inside the circle, do not leave, no matter what happens. Understood?"
Tony swallowed hard and nodded.
Dan dragged the chair into the center of the circle, and Tony sat down. But before he could relax, Dan pulled out a thick rope and began tying him to the chair.
Tony tensed. "Uh... why are you tying me up?" he asked, his voice filled with unease.
Dan didn't answer right away. He just tightened the knots. Then, finally, he looked Tony in the eye.
"Because if you're telling the truth... we're about to find out what's really inside you."
st in case something happens," Dan muttered as he tightened the ropes. He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the whole truth either.
He stepped back, his eyes locked on Tony. Then, without warning, Dan clenched his fist and drove it into Tony's cheek.
Tony gasped, his head snapping to the side. What the hell?
Dan didn't stop. He kept punching—again and again. Blood trickled from Tony's lips, his vision blurring.
"Why... why are you doing this?" Tony pleaded, his voice weak. "You're going to bring it out!"
Dan hesitated for a split second, his fists shaking. He hated this. But what if the kid was telling the truth? What if something was inside him?
Tony's head drooped, his breathing shallow. A minute passed. Then another.
Dan wiped the sweat off his brow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Did I go too far? His stomach twisted as guilt crept in. He stepped closer, reaching out to check Tony's pulse—
"Why did you do it?"
Dan froze. The voice hadn't come from him.
Slowly, he turned to face Tony.
But it wasn't Tony anymore.
Its head lifted, a smile stretching across its darkened face. Its eyes gleamed—bright, inhuman, and filled with something... ancient.
Dan clenched his cross and extended his arm, immediately reciting an incantation.
"I don't understand... don't humans speak English?" It scratched its jaw, tilting its head like a curious predator.
Dan kept chanting, his voice unwavering.
The creature stepped closer, its grin widening.
"I'm talking to you."
Before Dan could react, it grabbed his arm.
A sharp, unbearable pressure.
Dan's breath hitched. His knees locked in place. He had performed countless exorcisms, faced unspeakable things—demons, spirits, malevolent forces beyond reason.
This... this was different.
The grip tightened. Bones groaned under the strain.
"Answer my question, and I'll let you go."
Dan tried to speak. Nothing came out. His throat constricted. His entire body screamed for him to move, to run, but terror had him in its grip.
"You leave me no choice."
CRACK.
Dan's arm snapped like a twig.
Pain exploded through him. A scream tore from his throat as tears spilled down his face.
"Yes, yes! That's it!" It chuckled, eyes gleaming. "More—I need you to feel the pain I felt."
It seized Dan's other arm.
CRACK.
Another scream. Louder. Agonized.
Dan collapsed, his bloodied limbs useless at his sides. Desperate, he tried to crawl toward the exit, dragging his shattered arms across the filthy floor, leaving a trail of crimson behind.
The creature let him struggle—for a moment. Then, with a playful laugh, it grabbed his leg and pulled him back.
"Where are you going? We just got started."
Dan sobbed, barely able to lift his head.
Then—agony.
A hand plunged into his chest.
His body convulsed. His lips parted in a silent scream as his heart was yanked free from his ribs. The world dimmed.
Then—nothing.
Silence.
Darkness.
Tony's eyes shot open.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His hands—his trembling, blood-soaked hands—held something warm, something beating.
He looked down.
Dan's heart rested in his palm.
His stomach lurched. He screamed and stumbled backward, dropping the organ as though it burned him.
His gaze snapped to Dan's body—motionless, lifeless, a twisted husk of what was once a man.
His mind raced. His pulse pounded.
What have I done?
Tony turned and ran.
He didn't stop until he reached home.
He slammed the door shut, pressing his back against it, panting.
His hands—his hands—were still covered in blood.
Then, suddenly—memories.
Not his own.
Visions of a life that wasn't his flashed before his eyes. A different face. A different existence.
Something inside him stirred.
Something old.
Something hungry.
To be continued...