In a world where humanity had turned upon itself, where people preyed on one another in the name of power and survival, the boundary between sanity and madness had become paper-thin. Logic no longer governed morality, and every action felt like it belonged to some deeper, darker law of nature.
Noah kept running, the echo of the apostle's cold gaze burning into his mind, the image of worshipers flinging themselves from the clinic's roof still haunting him. Their broken bodies twisted grotesquely upon impact with the ground, yet they continued to pursue him—unstoppable, mindless in their devotion.
It was as if their bones had shattered not in pain but in zeal. What had this world become?
Finally, he found a temporary reprieve, his pursuers nowhere in sight, though the car's engine still roared beneath him, feeding his panicked flight. The rhythmic pounding of his bruised leg sent searing waves of agony through his body, each throb matching the erratic beat of his heart.
His right arm, where the shallow wound had scabbed over, ached with every slight movement. His body was a battlefield of pain, yet he had survived.
"I lived... I made it,"
He whispered to himself between labored breaths, disbelief lacing his words. His chest rose and fell, not just with the effort of running, but with the weight of everything he had lost—everything that still lay ahead. Survival had come at a cost. He had found no answers, only more questions, more horrors.
"It was a fruitless journey, and I hate that I'm running again, without a single answer... but I live to fight another day."
That thought—his determination to live—was what kept him going. The knowledge that he hadn't crumbled under the pressure of this twisted reality, even when the odds were against him, gave him a fierce resolve. Strength. That was what he needed now. In this fractured world, power was the only language anyone understood. To find the truth, to seek justice, and, above all, to survive, he needed to match their strength—or surpass it. His decision was made.
But the rush of resolve was quickly followed by another shadow—the thought of his daughter.
How could he tell her? How could he break her spirit by admitting he had failed her?
He had promised her that everything would be okay. But now… the hope he had so carefully nurtured would be shattered. How could he bear to see the light drain from her eyes?
The pain in his leg was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.
How do you tell your daughter that the world has taken away her mother? The weight of that question pressed down on him. As the car's speed increased, so did the relentless hammering of that question in his mind.
Soon, he would have to face her. The thought lingered heavily in Noah's mind as the car climbed the winding path to the villa perched on the small mountain. He hadn't even realized he had arrived until he reached the front door of the Villa.
For a moment, he simply sat there, breathing heavily, as he tried to compose himself. How was he supposed to face Kali and Judy? How could he tell them the truth without destroying them?
As if in response to his silent torment, he saw two figures moving toward the entrance, rushing from inside the villa. They had been waiting, watching through the window, the only way they could keep an eye on the road. With no way to communicate, they must have spent the entire time in anxious anticipation, hoping for his safe return.
Judy reached the car first, wrenching the door open with more force than he'd expected.
Before he could say a word, she threw herself into his lap, wrapping her small arms tightly around him.
The pain in his leg vanished in that moment, drowned by the warmth of her embrace. He felt her trembling against him, her tiny hands clinging to his coat as if he might disappear again if she let go.
No words were needed. The silence between them spoke louder than anything he could have said. It had only been a day and a half since they were separated, but it felt like a lifetime. The weight of their reunion, of surviving yet another day, filled the air between them.
Kali stood a few paces behind, watching them with sorrowful eyes. His gaze swept over Noah's battered form, his bruised leg, the blood-stained clothes, and then... the absence.
No Lucy. He didn't need to ask. The truth was written on Noah's face, in the heaviness of his step, and in the brokenness of his spirit.
Kali's voice broke the silence, gentle but firm. "Let's get inside," he said softly, his eyes never leaving Noah's.
"Judy, help me with your dad."
Without a word, Judy shifted to support her father, slipping her arm around his waist. Noah had expected her to ask about Lucy the moment she saw him. He had prepared himself for her questions, for her heartbreak. But she said nothing. Not yet.
Instead, she focused on helping him stand, her small frame steadying him as they slowly made their way toward the door.
The silence lingered as they stepped inside the villa. It wasn't the silence of avoidance or fear—it was the silence of shared understanding. Judy hadn't asked because, deep down, she knew. And Noah, despite the agony of it, felt grateful for that unspoken understanding.
There would be time for words later, for explanations and tears. But for now, all that mattered was that they were together, holding on to whatever fragile hope they had left.
They settled onto the sofa, the weight of exhaustion and grief pressing down on them like a familiar, suffocating blanket. It felt disturbingly like that first day—Noah, covered in bloodstains and wounds, Kali silently tending to him, and Judy sitting quietly beside her father, her small hand wrapped around his.
Kali finished bandaging Noah's injuries, his face tight with concern, and then, as if sensing the gravity of the moment, he asked, "Judy, can you give us a minute?" But for the first time, Judy disobeyed both her uncle and her father.
"I can't, Uncle. I need to stay next to Dad... I need to..." Her voice cracked, and without realizing it, she began to sob, squeezing Noah's hand with a desperation that shattered the silence. "Dad, I'm sorry... Please don't be sad... I'm sorry I couldn't help you, I could only wait here... I'm sorry..." Her words poured out uncontrollably, each one filled with the heavy guilt of a child who felt powerless.
The room seemed to grow darker, the air thickening with unresolved emotions, like a storm threatening to break.
Noah, despite the searing pain in his body, wrapped his arms around his daughter, pulling her into a tight embrace. She clung to him, her tears soaking his torn shirt. He let her cry, knowing that nothing he said could immediately lift the weight that had been growing in her heart.
After a moment, his voice broke through the thick air, low and filled with regret.
"I'm the one who needs to apologize."
He paused, the ache in his chest far deeper than any physical wound.
"I couldn't find your mom, I couldn't keep my promise." His voice wavered, but he forced himself to continue, feeling her sobs against him, her small body trembling.
"I'm sorry, Judy. I failed you. I'm... I'm not a good father."
Judy cried harder at his words, unable to understand how the man she looked up to, the one who had fought so hard to protect her, could think so little of himself. In that moment, father and daughter, both broken in their own ways, held onto each other, the pain of what was lost—and what was yet to come—hanging heavy in the air.
Judy, still gasping for breath and trying to control the flood of emotions, wiped her face and said, "I know my mom is still alive, I can feel it." Her voice, though soft, carried a fierce conviction that seemed to cut through the dark haze in the room. After a moment, she finally managed to stem the flow of her tears.
"You said it yourself—Mom is strong. We'll find her."
Noah looked down at his daughter, her bravery catching him off guard. Judy had always been strong, far stronger than he sometimes gave her credit for. In this moment, it wasn't just her words that comforted him—it was the quiet, unshakable belief behind them. She's stronger than me, he thought with a pang of guilt and admiration. She was the only one who could soothe him now, even as she fought her own pain.
Eventually, exhaustion took over, and Judy surrendered to sleep, her small body relaxing against him. Kali watched silently, waiting until she was fully asleep before gently lifting her into his arms.
"She's been waiting for you the whole time," he said quietly, his voice heavy with concern. "She didn't sleep, refused to eat. She was holding on for you."
Kali carried her to the bedroom, giving Noah a few moments to himself.
When Kali returned, he settled down beside Noah, his expression more serious now.
"Alright, tell me everything. What happened?"
He motioned for Noah to get comfortable, though the atmosphere was far from relaxing. "How did you end up like this? It's like you're a magnet for trouble."
Noah sighed, the weight of everything catching up to him.
"It's worse than we thought," he started, his voice low but steady. He recounted the events at the clinic—the state of chaos, the worshipers' terrifying devotion, their leader, and how they had taken Lucy. Every detail spilled out, from the bomb he set off to the fall from the roof, all the way to the moment he escaped with his life hanging by a thread.
Kali listened intently, absorbing every word. When Noah finally finished, the room fell into a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Kali rubbed his jaw, clearly trying to make sense of it all.
"I see..." he said slowly. "Well, it's a miracle you survived all that. The fact that you're here right now... Noah, that's something."
There was a brief pause before Kali added, with a glint of determination in his eyes,
"But don't worry—we'll find Lucy. We'll do it together this time."
His words were simple, but they carried a weight of reassurance. Unlike Noah, Kali didn't waver, didn't seem rattled by the impossible odds. He simply believed they could do it, the same way Judy did.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Noah felt the faint stirrings of hope. "Together..." he muttered, nodding slowly. "Yeah... this time, we'll find her together."
Finally, the conversation drew to a close. Kali gave Noah a reassuring nod before quietly excusing himself, leaving Noah alone to rest. As the door clicked shut, the weight of exhaustion settled over Noah like a heavy blanket. His body, battered and worn, finally gave in, and his mind, tangled with grief and unanswered questions, could fight no longer.
With a deep, slow breath, his consciousness faded, slipping into the comforting embrace of sleep. For the first time in what felt like forever, his thoughts quieted, and he found solace in the darkness, his pain and fear drifting away. For now, there were no battles, no desperate chases, just the sweet, safe escape of sleep—an all-too-brief respite from the chaos of the world outside.
In the dead of the cold night, Noah stirred from his sleep, a strange sensation creeping over him. It was subtle at first, like a whisper at the back of his mind, but it grew stronger, sharper, forcing him to open his eyes. His instincts prickled with unease as he scanned the room. Everything seemed quiet—too quiet.
Throwing a cautious gaze toward the window, his breath hitched. His heart dropped like a stone.
A tall figure stood just outside the villa's door, shrouded in darkness, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon. The figure raised a hand and began to wave, the motion slow and deliberate, sending a shiver down Noah's spine. Before he could fully process the scene, the glass shattered with a deafening crash. Shards rained across the room as a deep, guttural voice bellowed from outside.
"Knock, knock," it drawled, the mockery in its tone cutting through the frigid air.
"I hope I'm not intruding... oh, and thanks for the invite."
Noah's eyes widened, his pulse thundering in his ears. He shot upright, every muscle in his body tensed as a single thought looped through his panicked mind.
"He followed me! How? How is this possible?"
The figure stepped into the villa, his tall, imposing frame unmistakable now. The Apostle. His coat billowed as he crossed the threshold, his presence suffocating, followed closely by a swarm of worshipers, their movements eerily synchronized. The villa, once a sanctuary, was now a prison, and Noah could feel the cold grip of dread squeezing his chest.
The Apostle had come for him, and this time, there was no escape.