"Come, brothers, let us invoke the final spell," a strange, deep voice emanated from a hooded figure, cloaked in flowing robes that trailed across the floor as he moved. In moments, similar figures in identical attire filed in, their steps synchronized as if rehearsed countless times, each claiming their designated spot without hesitation.
"Let us pray to the darkness!" the same voice commanded as the last member settled into position. With hands raised high, they chanted in unison: "Oh great lord to whom we all pray, let all evil be exalted in thy name. We beseech your wicked grace—send your dark hands upon this altar and release what has been imprisoned below."
Abruptly, a sinister fog seeped into the space, enveloping everything in its haze, yet the group remained unmoved, standing still and impassive. Then, for a brief instant, all sound vanished, only to shatter with a cacophony of screams. A rift tore open in the air, and beams of blue light burst forth one after another.
*****
"Come on down, Jax—you're going to school today, remember?" the plump woman called from the kitchen, her gaze fixed on the staircase while she flipped a fried egg in the pan. She turned it over, checked it, then glanced back at the steps.
A boy descended, his backpack slung neatly over his shoulder. His mother watched him closely from behind, shaking her head in mild disapproval before returning fully to her cooking. "You know, we could skip the sweatpants for once," she muttered just loud enough for him to hear, prompting an annoyed groan from him.
"I told you, Mom, there's nothing wrong with my outfit," he replied, settling onto the high stool at the kitchen counter.
"I just think it's a bit tacky," she countered, gesturing with her pan and spoon. She switched off the stove, plated the eggs, and added strips of bacon beside them.
"Well, my dear mother, it's what's trending these days—tacky or not," he shot back, and they both shared a light laugh.
She glanced at the clock on the opposite wall, her eyes widening. "Oh no, my shift starts in thirty minutes!" She dashed upstairs with surprising speed, leaving him no chance to respond. He rolled his eyes—this was her typical morning rush.
He smiled to himself; he truly loved his mom. It had always been just the two of them. He had no memories of his father and never felt the need to ask about him, despite the photos scattered around the house. In his eighteen years, he'd never scrutinized them closely. His mom was all he needed, and that was enough.
Three minutes later, she reappeared—hair styled, makeup perfect, and dressed in a chic gown. Jax rolled his eyes again. "One might think you work at a bar with how flashy you dress," he teased, tossing his empty plate into the sink.
"And one might think you work in a junkyard with your style," she retorted with a sly smile, and they burst into laughter.
She let out a breath. "Alright, dear, let's get going—you're running late." Smiling, she led the way out to the car, driving him to school with stops only for traffic lights and a quick coffee run. "Bye, Jax," she called as she sped off to work.
As he approached the school, his breath caught in his throat. School was a place he dreaded, and for good reason. "Hey, runt, you didn't tell us your mom was this hot," a burly jock bellowed, slinging his massive arm over Jax's shoulders. That was Dex, the star basketball player—unnaturally tall and broad for his age, and Jax's relentless bully.
"It's too early for this," Jax muttered under his breath, but Dex caught every word.
"What's that? Pigs flying now?" Dex growled lowly, delivering a sharp knock to Jax's head that left his ears ringing.
Jax shrank back; there was no fighting it. Dex outmatched him in strength, smarts, and status. In the bigger picture, Jax felt like a nobody—easily overlooked and expendable. He'd once reported it to the principal, only to hear, "It's fine; Dex will grow out of it," delivered with shameless confidence. Who was the real victim here? He couldn't burden his mom with it either—she had enough on her plate, and it would trigger her overprotective mode, which was tough to shake. So, he plastered on a smile for everything.
In class, he couldn't focus on the teacher's words. He tried, but academics weren't on his mind today, so he stared blankly at the chalkboard and the instructor.
****
School ended in a frenzy .... letting out the kids in a chaotic rush, with students bolting to meet parents or grab bikes to ride home in groups. Jax, friendless, boarded the bus alone—his mom too tied up at work to pick him up. He slid into a back seat to evade prying eyes, pulled out his phone, and started scrolling. That's when it hit him—an eerie sense of being watched. From the corner of his eye, as the bus trundled past the landscape, he swore he glimpsed something resembling an angel.
And from there the Angel mouthed something...words he had heard so often that he knew when someone was saying it behind him
"Hello runt"
***"
Jax stepped down from the bus in a daze, his thoughts warped and tangled. His legs moved on instinct as his mind replayed the image over and over. He had seen it. He was sure of it. Clear as day. An angel. Or at least something that looked like one.
As he walked toward his house, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, he began muttering under his breath, trying to ground himself. "I saw it. I know I did. I am not crazy." He kicked a small pebble off the sidewalk, watching it skitter uselessly across the pavement. The words did little to calm him.
Then the feeling returned.
That creeping sensation slithered up his spine, the unmistakable awareness of being watched. His steps slowed. His chest tightened. He did not know why it felt so familiar until realization struck him hard. The last time he had felt this way was minutes ago. On the bus. When he saw the angel.
Jax spun around in a sudden, panicked motion.
He was there.
Not it. Him.
The figure towered unnaturally tall, his presence bending the air around him. Beautiful was the only word Jax's mind could grasp, yet even that felt wrong. This was no comforting being from stories or scripture. There was no warmth, no glow, no serenity. The angel did not smile. He simply stared at Jax with eyes that felt ancient and cold, as though they had witnessed the end of worlds.
Fear locked Jax in place.
The angel finally spoke. "Hello, runt."
The voice was deep and unsettling, vibrating through the air rather than traveling through it. There was no effort to soften it. No kindness. Just raw, malicious amusement. Jax could not respond. His teeth chattered as his body trembled violently, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. He had never felt terror this pure before.
The angel noticed. He smiled, a thin, deliberate curve of his lips that only made the fear worse. "You are scared," he said plainly. "Good."
He drifted forward, not walking, but hovering as if gravity had no claim over him. Jax stumbled backward, taking several frantic steps to put distance between them. His instincts screamed at him to run, yet his body refused to obey. Fight or flight never came. It never had. Not with Dex. Not now.
The angel seemed amused by this. "I could say the whole 'do not be afraid' speech like the others," he continued casually. "But I am not like other angels. Surely you have noticed."
Jax swallowed hard, forcing the words past his shaking lips. "Are… are you an angel?"
"I technically am," the being replied. "But I do not identify as one. Think of me as a special case."
"You do not glow," Jax whispered.
"Those are theatrics," the angel scoffed. "Pageantry for the faithful. I have no need for such nonsense."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Jax gathered what little courage he had left and asked the question that burned in his chest. "Why are you here?"
The angel's gaze sharpened. "Because the seal has weakened. Because foolish humans chanted words they did not understand. Because something ancient is stirring." He paused, eyes narrowing. "And because you are here."
Jax frowned weakly. "Me?"
"Yes. You." The angel straightened slightly. "Your despair resonates. Your fear tastes familiar. You are small, overlooked, broken in all the right ways." He tilted his head. "Perfect."
Jax's breath hitched. "Who… who are you?"
The angel smiled again, this time with pride. "My name is Astreal. Warden of the Lower Threshold. Executioner of failed worlds. And now, your unwanted savior."
"I do not want this," Jax said, his voice barely audible.
Astreal chuckled softly. "Of course you do not. That is what makes this honest." He raised a hand, and the air around them distorted violently. Symbols carved themselves into existence, glowing faintly blue, spinning in a slow, ominous circle around Jax. "I require an anchor. A vessel. You require power. Survival. Purpose."
"What happens if I say no?" Jax asked.
Astreal leaned in close, his face inches away. "Then you die insignificant. Forgotten. Exactly as the world intends."
The symbols flared brighter.
"And if I say yes?" Jax whispered.
Astreal's voice dropped to a murmur. "Then you live. You suffer. You grow. And I live within you."
The ground trembled. The symbols collapsed inward, slamming into Jax's chest. Pain erupted instantly, searing through his veins like liquid fire. He screamed as something tore its way into his soul, not violently, but thoroughly, claiming every corner of his being. His vision fractured into blue and black as Astreal's presence settled inside him.
Jax collapsed to his knees, gasping.
Astreal's voice echoed from within his mind now, calm and satisfied. "The contract is sealed. I see through your eyes. I hear your thoughts. You are mine."
Jax clenched his fists, tears streaming down his face. "Get out of my head."
Astreal laughed softly. "No."
Silence followed.
Then, quietly, almost kindly, Astreal added, "Welcome to the end of your ordinary life, runt."