"Where do we go?" the mother gasped.
"Somewhere with people!" the father shouted. "Somewhere not alone!"
The car screeched into the nearest grocery store parking lot.
It was chaos.
People running.
People crying.
People fighting over carts and cases of water.
Every alarm inside the store was blaring.
"Everyone get what you can!" the father yelled. "Move!"
They sprinted inside.
Zyla clutched her glowing hand close, trying to hide it.
Her mother grabbed first aid kits, bandages, pain meds—anything she could reach.
Her siblings ran to the snack aisle, filling their backpacks with chips, granola bars, canned soup.
Her father?
He pushed through a fighting crowd and went straight for the sporting goods section—
bats, knives, anything heavy.
Zyla followed them, shaking, her nerves burning from the recent fight.
She watched the panic all around—
people shoving each other, some crying, some stealing water…
…and then one guy trying to steal a giant flat-screen TV.
Zyla stared at him, stunned.
"Seriously?" she muttered.
The building shook as another explosion sounded in the distance.
No one had time for luxury.
This was survival.
Her father came running back toward the entrance.
"Everyone OUT! NOW!"
He jumped into the car and—without hesitation—
DROVE straight into the automatic doors, shattering the glass outward.
He threw the car into park, popped open the trunk.
"THROW EVERYTHING IN!"
Her mother and siblings rushed over and tossed in blankets, food, medicine—while desperate people tried grabbing items from them.
A man lunged for their water—
The father swung the pistol, hitting him square in the face.
"BACK. OFF."
The crowd backed away fast.
"GET IN!"
Everyone piled into the car—Zyla last, still watching the store, still expecting Icca to appear again at any second.
Her father hit the gas.
The car sped away, leaving the chaos behind.
Zyla held her shaking hand against her chest, the last of her powers fizzing out.
She stared out the window, terrified.
Because she knew this wasn't over.
Icca had found her.
And next time?
Zyla wouldn't be able to run.
Zyla Breaks down the moment the car pulled into the old, abandoned storage lot, everything went eerily quiet.
Her father parked behind a rusted metal unit and turned off the engine.
No more demons.
No more screaming people.
Just cold silence.
Zyla sat in the back seat, fingers clenched so hard her knuckles were white. Her chest tightened. Her throat closed. Everything she'd been forcing down—
finally shattered.
Her mom turned toward her, eyes softening.
"Sweetheart… talk to me. What happened?"
Zyla's breath hitched.
She didn't want to cry.
She didn't want them to see her like this.
But the weight…
the fear…
the guilt…
It crushed her.
She burst into tears, shaking violently.
"I—It's my fault!" she sobbed, gripping her hair. "They—those things—they came for me! And they almost killed you—Mom, Dad—I almost got you all—"
Her voice broke so hard she couldn't finish.
Her mother wrapped her arms around her immediately.
"Oh, baby… no. No. This isn't your fault."
"Yes, it is!" Zyla cried, choking. "You don't understand—she—she said she was Satan's daughter, and she wanted you all dead, and she almost—"
She collapsed into her mom's shoulder, trembling uncontrollably.
Her dad reached into the back seat and pulled her into a hug too, tight and protective.
Whatever fear he had, he buried it to comfort her.
"We're alive because you warned us," he said firmly. "You saved us. You hear me?"
Zyla shook her head.
"I'm… I'm dangerous. Something's wrong with me—my hands—my skin—everything burns inside me—"
Her mom cupped her face gently.
"Whatever is happening, we'll get through it. Together."
Zyla closed her eyes, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.
Her little brother crawled over her lap and hugged her chest tightly.
Her little sister curled around her legs, whispering, "Don't cry, Zyla. Don't cry."
And for a moment—
even with the demons outside, the world crumbling, and something monstrous awakening inside her—
she felt loved.
She felt safe.
She felt human.
When the tears finally slowed, her dad took a deep breath and said:
"We can't stay out here. We need shelter."
Her mother nodded.
"There's an old hunting cabin past Birch Ridge. Hardly anyone knows it's there."
"It's isolated," her dad added. "That's good. Harder for those things to find us."
Zyla wiped her eyes, still shaking.
"But… what if they come again? I—I can't fight her. Icca… she's too strong. I couldn't—"
Her dad pressed a hand to her shoulder.
"You fought anyway. That's strength."
Her mom reached back and squeezed Zyla's hand.
"And we will keep you safe, just like you tried to protect us."
Zyla swallowed hard and nodded, even though fear still twisted her stomach.
The car rumbled back to life.
They drove in silence through back roads, avoiding main streets where chaos echoed in the distance—sirens, screams, shattered alarms.
Zyla kept looking out the window, expecting to see shadows following them.
But the forest grew thicker.
Darker.
Quieter.
Eventually, they turned onto a dirt path.
The trees swallowed them whole, blocking the sight of the sky.
And then they pulled up to a small, weather-beaten cabin hidden behind towering pines.
Her dad stepped out cautiously, scanning the area.
"This'll have to do."
Her mother carried blankets and food inside.
The kids hauled water and supplies.
Zyla followed last, her legs still shaky.
The cabin was dusty but solid.
A fireplace.
Two bedrooms.
A single working lamp hooked to a backup generator.
Her mother lit candles.
Her father nailed boards across the windows.
Her siblings made piles of blankets into a little nest in the corner.
And for the first time since the nightmare began—
Zyla sat down on the cabin floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and breathed slowly.
Not safe.
Not really.
But safer than before.
And as she stared at her hands, faint cracks of black-gold energy still glowing beneath her skin, she whispered to herself:
"What am I…?"