The ruins of the aqueduct were silent now, reduced to
ash and broken stone. Maxwell stood at the edge of the cistern, his sword still
faintly glowing as if unsettled. His body trembled with exhaustion, but it
wasn't only fatigue.
The whispers hadn't left.
Even after he had shattered the shard, faint echoes of
its voice still coiled inside his skull. Words he didn't want to hear. Promises
he didn't want to believe.
You are mine.
You could have saved her.
Why fight for them when they fear you?
Maxwell clenched his fists until his knuckles bled. He
would not let it win.
But the whispers didn't stop.
Back at the abandoned church safehouse, Anthony laid
fresh pages of the Codex across the altar, tracing the shifting text with
steady hands. His face was pale, his faith strained but unbroken.
Gabby stood guard by the cracked stained glass, her
wings hidden beneath her cloak, though every so often they rustled restlessly.
Her golden eyes never stopped scanning the shadows beyond.
Maxwell sat in the pews alone, head bowed, sword
resting across his knees. He wanted silence, but it wouldn't come. The whispers
grew louder in the stillness.
Anthony finally broke the air. "The Codex reveals
more. The shards do not simply exist. They seek a host. And when broken, they
cling to the one who touched them."
Maxwell's head snapped up. "You're saying it's inside
me."
Anthony hesitated, glancing at Gabby. She didn't deny
it.
Maxwell slammed his sword into the floorboards, the
wood splintering. "You knew."
Gabby's voice was calm, though sorrow lingered in it.
"I feared it. Now I am sure. The shard's corruption has tasted your blood. It
will whisper to you, tempt you. It will never stop."
Maxwell rose, fury sparking. "So what—you're saying
I'm already damned?"
Anthony shook his head quickly. "No, no—listen to me.
It's not damnation, not yet. The Codex says the Nephilim are both bridge and
barrier. You can carry the shard without succumbing to it. That's why Samael
fears you."
Maxwell's jaw clenched, his storm-gray eyes burning.
"Feels like fear isn't the word. Feels like he's laughing at me."
Gabby stepped closer, her hand brushing lightly
against his shoulder. "Listen to me, Maxwell. Samael cannot claim you unless
you yield. The more you fight, the more Heaven will strengthen you."
Maxwell almost laughed, bitter and sharp. "Fight? I've
been fighting since the day I was born. And every time I lose someone. My
mother. My father. And now… now I've got a demon living rent-free in my head."
He shoved her hand away and stormed toward the door,
slamming it open. Night wind rushed in, carrying city sounds—the honk of cars,
the bark of dogs, the hum of a world blissfully unaware.
Anthony started to follow, but Gabby raised a hand.
"Let him breathe."
Anthony's brow furrowed with worry. "But if the shard
tempts him—"
Her eyes glimmered faintly. "He must learn to resist,
or he will not survive the next trial."
Maxwell walked alone through the crumbling streets,
his coat pulled tight, his sword strapped to his back. The neon glow of
downtown Los Angeles painted the night in fractured colors. Drunks stumbled out
of bars. Cars sped by. Life continued, oblivious.
But he could not escape the whispers.
You don't belong to them.
You don't belong to us.
You belong to me.
He pressed his palms against his temples. "Shut up,"
he muttered.
I can bring her back, Maxwell.
He froze. His breath hitched. His mother's face
flashed before him—smiling, alive, her hand reaching for his.
His storm-gray eyes burned as tears pricked. "Stop…"
The whisper grew sweeter, tender. Just one shard is
enough to taste eternity. Imagine all of them, bound together, flowing through
your veins. No more loss. No more pain. You could save everyone.
His knees buckled. He pressed his forehead to the cold
brick of a wall, trembling. The weight of choice bore down on him.
And then—
A shadow moved across the alley.
Maxwell snapped his head up, hand flying to his sword.
A figure stood at the far end, cloaked in darkness. Not human. The shape
rippled unnaturally, its eyes glowing faint orange.
Samael's voice, smooth and venomous, filled the air.
"You see now, don't you, little Nephilim? You were
born to fall."
The figure stepped into view—it wasn't Samael himself,
but a vessel, a corpse animated by shadow. Its movements were stiff, jerky, its
mouth working though the voice that came out was Samael's.
Maxwell snarled, drawing his blade. "Get out of my
head!"
The corpse smiled grotesquely, its jaw cracking. "I'm
not in your head, Maxwell. I'm in your blood."
The whispers surged, louder, drowning out the world.
Maxwell roared and charged, blade blazing. He cut the puppet down in a single
furious stroke, the shadow exploding into smoke.
But Samael's laughter lingered, echoing through the
night.
Maxwell fell to his knees, chest heaving. His hands
trembled violently, his blade humming as though unsettled.
For the first time, he wondered if Samael was right.
Back in the church, Gabby's wings rustled suddenly.
She straightened, her golden eyes narrowing. "He's found him."
Anthony paled. "Samael?"
Gabby's jaw tightened. "A puppet only. A whisper, a
test. But one day soon, Samael will not send shadows. He will come himself."
Her gaze turned toward the door, toward the city where
Maxwell knelt alone in the dark. "And when he does… the boy must be ready."