The blue light pulsed softly inside the suitcase, bathing the boy's face in an eerie glow as he stared down at it. The air in the tent felt thick and electric, like the moment before a storm hits.
Before he could process it, his dog lifted its head and barked sharply.
"Easy, boy," he murmured, but the dog was already scrambling out of the tent flap.
Someone was approaching.
A moment later, a girl stepped into view, brushing dirt off her boots. Her voice came out breathless and worried.
"You just opened it again, didn't you?"
The boy sighed. "Yeah. I had to."
The dog trotted over to her, tail wagging, then pressed its side against her leg. She knelt down to scratch behind its ears, but her eyes never left the boy.
"You know this is dangerous," she said quietly.
"Every time you mess with that thing, you're risking more than just yourself."
He shook his head and zipped the suitcase halfway closed.
"I know. But I can't stop now. I need to unlock my abilities. If I don't… we won't survive out here. Not in Halworth."
She stepped inside the tent.
"You don't have abilities. This thing," she pointed at the suitcase, "was made for people who already have powers. Adults who used it… died. A billion people, remember?"
"I know," he whispered.
"Trust me. I know."
Her eyes softened with fear. "Then why would you use it on yourself?"
He swallowed and slowly slid a small glass vial out of his pocket. Inside was a dark, shifting substance that used to be glowing blue.
"Because I already did."
She froze.
"Wait… you used it? On yourself?"
He nodded.
"But… it's black," she whispered.
"The goo turns blue when it reacts. How the hell did yours turn black?"
"Watch."
He let the tiny blob roll out of the vial onto his palm. Instantly, on contact with his skin, it turned pitch black again, like ink absorbing light.
She gasped.
"What— that's not possible."
He flicked it off his hand. The moment it hit the dirt floor, the blob snapped back to bright blue, glowing like it had never changed.
She stepped back.
"That's not normal. That's not anything I've ever heard of."
He exhaled slowly.
"I know. But whatever it means… I have to see this through. I have to control it before it controls me."
Meanwhile — 3 Kilometers Away
Halworth's streets were quiet, except for the distant hum of neon signs and the wind slithering through broken windows. But in a shadowed alleyway, violence echoed.
A figure moved like darkness itself — fast, precise, merciless.
Five men had been hunting the British boy for hours. Now, one of them screamed.
The shadowy figure grabbed the first man by the collar, lifted him effortlessly, and shot him in the "third leg." The man shrieked, dropping his gun.
Before the scream finished, the figure's blade flashed — a clean, perfect slice.
The man's head toppled off his shoulders and rolled across the wet concrete. His body stood for one confused second, still alive, before the blood sheeted down and it collapsed.
Two more men rushed in.
The figure twisted sideways, avoided a punch, and caught the second man's wrist.
"You're good," the figure said, voice low and cold.
"But not good enough."
A sharp diagonal slash tore across the man's chest — so deep it sliced him completely in half. The upper half slammed to the ground. The lower half toppled a moment later.
Only two attackers remained.
The shadowy figure scanned the alley.
"There were five. Where's the last one?"
The two men trembled but raised their weapons.
He sighed.
"I don't have time for this."
Dark smoke flowed from under his feet, rising like liquid night. From it stepped two perfect clones — copies of him formed from shadow, eyes glowing faintly.
The two clones sprinted forward.
Steel clashed. Gunshots echoed. The last men fought skillfully, exchanging blows with the clones, blocking kicks, dodging slashes — but it didn't matter.
The clones overwhelmed them.
One was impaled.
The other had his throat torn open.
As the bodies fell, the clones faded back into mist, returning to their master.
The shadowy figure looked toward the direction of the tent.
"You're not ready yet, boy… but soon."
And then he vanished into darkness.
Ashley had barely turned the corner when the memories hit her—soft, stupid, childish memories she never asked for.
The cracked pavement of Andriver always had a way of pulling old versions of her back from the dark. She saw flashes of her younger self running barefoot, chasing a ball across this same street while the neighborhood kids laughed, pointed, and called her weird.
Back then she just laughed with them, pretending it didn't sting. Pretending she didn't know why they sensed something wrong in her. Pretending she wasn't already different.
Now, older and haunted by more than childish insults, the memory only made her jaw tighten. Embarrassment twisted with anger in her chest, and she walked faster, looking away from the corners she once knew too well.
She didn't even see the girl until they collided.
Ashley stumbled back. The girl stared at her—wide-eyed, shocked, almost afraid.
"Ashley?" she whispered. "Ashley Jackson? Is that really you?"
That was all it took.
Ashley bolted.
She sprinted down the street, refusing to look back, refusing to let anyone from her past see what she had become. She didn't stop running until she reached the house marked with the number the Fallen Angel had given her. Toys lay scattered across the messy yard—little bikes, plastic shovels, stuffed animals soaked by last night's rain. But no kids. Not a single sound.
Something was wrong.
Then Larry stepped out—the boy she used to bully, now older, awkward, shocked to see her. They talked. They laughed a little. He made her tea. It almost felt normal.
Then everything shattered
ASHLEY — THE PRESENT
Ashley came back to consciousness choking on cold water. Her head jerked forward, breath snapping in like a knife. She blinked hard, hair dripping, vision swimming until Larry's face slid into focus above her.
"You didn't have to come all the way here," he said, voice low, defeated. "Think about it, Ashley. You ruined yourself by coming back to Andriver. I had no choice but to grab you."
She tugged against restraints—thick ropes around her wrists, her ankles, her chest. Her body was tied to a wooden chair. Beneath her feet, symbols were carved into the floorboards. Circles. Zodiac signs. Strange letters from a language she didn't know.
A cold, invisible pressure sat on her skin.
Her powers were dead silent.
Larry stepped closer, eyes twitching.
"Your soul… is priceless. You are the daughter of the devil, right?"
Ashley spat in his face.
"Fuck you, Larry."
He wiped the spit with a trembling smile.
"Oh, trust me," he said softly, "I've already been fucked."
Ashley's heartbeat pounded. Something in the room was wrong—beyond Larry. She tasted metal on her tongue. Her shadows wouldn't come. She looked down at the glowing symbols.
"Why can't I use my powers?" she whispered.
Larry didn't answer.
She spat blood on the wooden floor and watched it soak between the symbols.
The dried blood around her made her stomach twist. That wasn't hers. Or at least… not recently.
"What happened to you, Larry?" she asked. "What really happened?"
Larry's smile vanished. "If you want to know, you have to ask me yourself."
"What the hell does that even—"
The door creaked.
Her entire body stiffened.
Something cold slid down her spine as a presence filled the room—so heavy she couldn't breathe.
A demon's steps echoed.
This wasn't like the others she'd seen before. This one made her core tremble, shadows inside her shrink like scared children.
A tall figure stepped in, wearing a flawlessly pressed black suit, hair long and black, mustache sharp, eyes dark with something ancient.
He grinned.
"So this is the famous Ashley," he said. "Interesting. That's not your real name, of course… but we'll get to that later."
His voice dripped false politeness, like a teacher greeting a student he planned to dissect.
"I must say," he continued, "humans are fascinating creatures. Blend in with them correctly, and no one notices anything. And now…" he spread his arms, showing the empty room, "everyone in this town is soulless. Can you believe it?"
Ashley's teeth clenched so hard her jaw hurt.
"What are you doing in this town?" she demanded.
Larry punched her across the face.
"You're not allowed to talk!"
But Alistair raised a hand.
"No. Let her. I enjoy the spirit."
He crouched so his eyes met hers.
"What am I doing here?" he asked, smiling wider. "Collecting souls. Twelve more, actually."
Ashley's breath hitched. "Whose souls?"
Larry answered this time, voice hollow:
"The children's. Eleven left."
Ashley looked at him—really looked—and felt something break.
"Larry… what happened to you?"
He struck her again, knuckles cracking against her cheek.
Alistair laughed softly.
"Oh, Ashley. You want to know what happened to him? He came to me. Begging. Desperate."
He snapped his fingers.
LARRY IN THE CEMETERY
Moonlight washed over rows of crooked gravestones. Larry stood in the mud, shovel shaking in his blistered hands. He had already dug up twenty graves. Twenty corpses. He was exhausted, sweaty, filthy, muttering to himself.
"Twenty-one… this better be real. If I worked for free, I swear I'm suing that website…"
He lifted the twenty-first corpse, dragging it and tossing it onto a pile of twenty lifeless bodies. The smell burned his nose.
"Okay… this is it…"
He pulled a knife across his palm and let his blood drip down onto the pile.
When the last drop fell, the blood ignited.
Flames burst upward—silent, blue, unnatural.
A massive star-shaped symbol glowed on the grass. Three numbers burned at its edges: 5… 5… 5.
A voice crawled out of the flames.
"What do you desire?"
Larry breathed heavily. "Power."
The demon laughed.
"Power costs, kid. What do I get?"
Larry swallowed.
"Freedom."
Silence.
Then a hiss:
"Deal."
The bodies shriveled, their blood evaporating into the air. Their bones cracked and folded together, merging into one humanoid shape that rose from the ground. When the smoke cleared, it stood tall—long black hair, sharp mustache, a perfect black suit.
The same demon now standing before Ashley.
Alistair.
The fire in the flashback flickered, swallowing the cemetery in orange light. Larry's scream—young, terrified, desperate—echoed through the fog of memory until it burned out like a dying candle.
And then—
Ashley's eyes ripped open.
Cold air punched her lungs. Her wrists throbbed against ropes that felt carved from stone. The room was quiet except for the slow, measured tapping of a boot.
Alistair stood inches from her chair, his gloved fingers tracing the glowing zodiac symbols painted around her. The symbols hummed like a heartbeat.
"Quite the show, wasn't it?" he murmured. "Larry used to cry a lot more, but time shapes everyone."
Ashley forced air through gritted teeth.
"Let me go."
"That depends," Alistair said, leaning in, "on how fast you tell me what your father hid."
Ashley spat blood at his shoe.
He smiled.
"You still have spirit. Good. Souls with spirit taste richer."
He turned to the symbols.
"They seal your shadow abilities. Old magic. Forbidden. I had to dig deep to find it."
Footsteps approached. Larry entered, a dripping metal bucket in hand. His eyes were hollow, sunken—nothing like the awkward boy she once bullied for wearing mismatched shoes.
"Ready?" Alistair asked him.
Larry nodded without looking at Ashley.
Ashley swallowed.
"Larry… what did he promise you?"
Larry clenched his jaw. His voice cracked.
"You don't understand. No one was there for me. No one."
Alistair's shadow curled around him like a lover.
"The preschool," he reminded softly. "We have… eleven left."
The words hit Ashley like ice.
Children.
They were taking children.
Alistair and Larry walked out, shutting the door behind them. Everything went silent.
Then the ceiling split with a soft metallic whisper.
A single iron wing fell beside her, hitting the floor with a dull clang.
The angel appeared in a flicker—transparent, unstable, dying.
"I cannot fight," it breathed.
"But I can give you the weapon to do so."
Ashley pressed her fingers against the wing's cold surface. A surge cut through her like lightning striking a frozen lake.
The ropes snapped.
Ashley stood.
She wasn't strong enough.
She wasn't ready.
But she didn't care.
She picked up the iron wing, stepped out into the hall—
—and ran straight into a girl with pale skin and eyes like dawn.
"Ashley," the girl gasped. "You survived."
Ashley stumbled back.
"You… you were the one I bumped into earlier."
The girl nodded.
"My name is Yuki. I came to warn you, but you were already in Alistair's trap."
Ashley tightened her grip on the wing.
"Then help me stop him."
Yuki shook her head.
"I already did. But it's too late. You've already taken down two of his people while escaping. That means your path is sealed."
Ashley frowned.
"What path?"
"The path where you face Alistair alone," Yuki whispered. "And the outcome is written in shadows."
And then, before Ashley could speak, Yuki turned and walked away, fading into mist.
Ashley stared after her, iron wing heavy in her hand, breath shaking.
The night was silent.
Too silent.
And that was where her next nightmare began.
The ropes were suffocating. Every breath Ashley took tasted like iron and dust.
The symbols glowed around her—twelve of them, each pulsing with old power.
Eleven burned bright.
One flickered.
Ashley narrowed her eyes.
Larry had drawn it crooked.
She slammed her wrist against it.
A snap echoed like a bone breaking.
Her shadow spilled from her palm in a violent surge, coiling around her wrists. The ropes sizzled and melted into black liquid.
She rose, breath trembling.
Footsteps.
Larry entered the room.
His eyes widened.
"You— you weren't supposed to—"
Ashley lifted her hand. A shadow slammed into him, sending him crashing into the wall. He hit the ground with a grunt.
Alistair appeared behind him in a blur.
"Well," he said calmly, "that's earlier than expected."
Ashley bared her teeth.
"You kidnapped children. That ends tonight."
Alistair's smile faded. For the first time, annoyance cracked through his composure.
"You don't understand the consequences of rebelling here."
"I do," Ashley whispered. "And I'm still going to kill you."
Before he could respond, she burst past both of them, shadows swirling around her legs like smoke. She kicked the door open and sprinted into the icy street.
Andriver looked… wrong.
Colours faded. Buildings warped. The sky bent like stretched rubber. The world flickered like a dying TV screen.
She ran harder.
A figure stepped out in front of her.
Yuki.
But her eyes glowed gold this time.
"You escaped too early," Yuki said softly. "Now everything changes."
Ashley tightened her fists.
"Good."
Ashley's scream tore out of her throat, shredding the quiet house.
"HELP! PLEASE!"
Light exploded through the ceiling.
A being descended—six great wings unfurling like dawn, each feather brighter than the sun. Ashley shielded her eyes as the angel touched the ground, trembling with rage.
"You were not meant to suffer this fate."
Ashley stared, wide-eyed.
"You… you're real?"
"Yes," the angel said. "And Alistair has gone too far."
It sliced her ropes with a single touch. The cords fell away like dust.
Ashley collapsed into its arms.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why save me?"
The angel paused.
"Because your existence threatens both realms. And because… your father was not the monster they say."
Ashley blinked.
"What are you talking ab—"
A void opened beneath the angel.
A black maw.
Teeth made of shadow.
Alistair's voice purred from somewhere unseen:
"Interfere again, and I will peel your wings."
The angel shoved Ashley away as shadow tendrils latched onto its legs, dragging it into the pit.
"ASHLEY—RUN!"
The angel vanished.
An iron wing clattered to the floor.
Ashley picked it up with a trembling hand.
"Alistair…" she whispered.
She stepped into the street, eyes burning.
"I'm ending this."
Yuki reveals the truth of the realms
Ashley stumbled from the house, iron wing dragging behind her like a broken sword.
Yuki appeared from the shadows, her expression somber.
"You survived."
Ashley glared.
"You knew everything. You let this happen."
"No," Yuki whispered. "I cannot interfere. I can only warn."
Ashley stepped closer.
"Then warn me."
Yuki looked up at the fading sky.
"Alistair has devoured eleven towns before this one. Entire populations. Vanished."
Ashley's stomach dropped.
"Why?"
"For the weapon he's building."
Yuki turned to her.
"A weapon made from stolen souls."
Ashley's breath caught.
"He wants to kill angels."
"No," Yuki corrected softly.
"He wants to kill all of them."
The wind howled.
Ashley clutched the iron wing.
"What does this have to do with me?"
Yuki met her gaze, eyes glowing faintly blue.
"You were born of both worlds. Angel and demon. You are the only being capable of undoing the divide."
Ashley stumbled back.
"No… no, that's impossible—"
"That's why Alistair wants your soul," Yuki said, voice shaking.
"You are the key."
Ashley looked at the sky, at the empty houses, at the silent streets.
"If I'm a key," she whispered, "I choose what I open."
Town pulled into nightmare world
Ashley stepped out of the house.
The world twisted.
The sky tore open like wet paper. Houses bent into impossible shapes. Shadows crawled across the ground in spider-like motions.
Ashley froze.
"What… happened?"
"This is the in-between," Yuki answered from behind, her voice trembling.
"The space between reality and oblivion."
Ashley spun to face her.
"Alistair did this?"
"He's already absorbed half the town."
A streetlight twisted into a tall creature with glowing eyes. It turned its head toward Ashley.
Ashley gripped the iron wing harder.
"I have to get to the preschool."
"No." Yuki stepped in front of her. "If you enter the nightmare zone fully… there is no return."
Ashley's voice dropped.
"I don't care."
Yuki swallowed hard.
"I will guide you. But once your hands take two lives… I can no longer follow."
Ashley nodded, breath steady.
A monster lunged.
Ashley swung the iron wing.It exploded into ash.
Yuki whispered:
"It has begun."