Arc Two continues.
After peace comes the summons, and our team finds themselves faced with whispers of something unthinkable: a newborn child claimed to be a demon.
But is it madness, trauma, or something darker stirring beneath the surface?
Thank you for journeying further into the unknown.
Every answer will lead to deeper questions.
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We disembark from the boat, sand shifting underfoot as the breeze greets us like gossip come alive.
I swear, the captain sighed in relief the moment we stepped off. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe it was the weight of knowing he had just ferried a divine soap opera across cursed waters.
Either way, he did not look back.
Samuel's phone rings first.
Then Lady Elsa's.
Then Alec's.
Mine? Blissfully dead, exactly as I intended.
Samuel approaches, phone glowing, face unreadable.
I raise a hand without even looking at him. "Nope. Not yet. I'm going home. I'm going to take the longest, warmest, most spiritually unproductive bath of my entire afterlife."
He opens his mouth. I take a dramatic step back, hand still raised. "Then I'm going to order everything on the junk food list, eat it all, and reintroduce my anxiety to carbs."
Samuel lifts a brow. "Anxiety? You just came back from paradise, not purgatory."
I sigh, giving him a tired smile. "After watching Seth and Eric try to turn paradise into purgatory over me, I think I've earned it."
"But Max, this is important. The kind of important that gets us all yelled at later if I don't say it now."
"I said no, Sam." I pull a face. "I feel crusty, oily, spiritually wrung out, and I smell like something the tide threw back. Don't ruin this moment for me."
Seth chuckles beside me, low and warm. "I think she means it, Samuel. I feel the same. I think you do, too."
I glance at him, lips twitching. "Good. Maybe next time you and Eric can settle it without the atmosphere needing therapy."
He slips an arm around me, breath steady, the scent of sea and smoke still clinging to him and winks at Samuel. "We'll meet at the house tonight. Eight sharp."
At eight on the dot, the front gate chimes, and moments later, the gang steps into our home, our new headquarters.
No longer just a house. Now a fortress dressed as a palace: white stone, glass etched with scripture, halls wide enough to host kings or angels.
I set fruit platters on the table, the scent of mango and strawberries filling the space while tension hides in the corners. Then I drop beside Seth.
Only Eric and his team are missing. A twinge rises; I flick it away like lint.
"Alright," I say. "I am clean, fed, and emotionally moisturized. What was so urgent you nearly ruined my reunion with hot water?"
Alec speaks, voice heavier than usual.
"Samuel and I went over the calls on the way here. They are all about the same thing."
He grabs a few grapes, chews slowly, then says it like he is still wrapping his mind around the words.
"A woman, around thirty, tried to kill her newborn at a hospital this morning."
My breath stumbles. I blink once.
"Wow," I say quietly. "Just… wow."
The room shifts. The fruit suddenly feels too sweet, the silence too loud.
Jamey, elbow-deep in the platter, mumbles through a mouthful, "She says the kid was born with horns and hooves for feet."
He swallows, wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and adds, "Claims the baby's a demon."
Beside me, Seth repeats in my exact tone, "Wow. Just… wow."
I jab him in the ribs. "That's copyright."
He grins, unfazed.
I shift forward. "Did anyone we know actually see the baby?"
Alec answers under his breath, almost reluctantly. "Gabriel."
Oh. His nemesis. Lovely.
Jamey is halfway through another handful of grapes.
"Hey, slow down, you fruit-vacuum," I said, smirking. "Save some for the rest of us."
I pluck a grape from the platter and lob it at his head. "And what does our dearest Gabriel have to say about demon babies?"
Samuel sighs, a deep, tired sound like someone who would rather be anywhere else.
"He did not see any horns or hooves. Apparently, we've moved past the classics. But," he pauses, "he picked up something wrong. A heavy aura. The kind that made him decide this was a Max and Seth situation."
I frown, reaching into my pocket for my phone. The screen lights up with five missed calls from Gabriel.
I do not mention it.
Seth stirs beside me, posture shifting from relaxed to ready.
"Which hospital?"
"St. Helena's Medical Centre," Samuel replies, voice hushed like the name itself carries weight.
Samantha returns from the hallway, drying her hands with a towel.
"I know that hospital. It does charity work, mostly for the poor and the homeless. It is not unusual for their patients to slip through the cracks. It is worth looking into this woman's background."
She turns to her brother. "Has anyone pulled her file yet?"
Lady Elsa, ever prepared, reaches into her leather satchel and produces a folder.
"Name: Elizabeth. Thirty-two. Divorced. Lives with an elderly aunt. The child is not her ex-husband's."
She hands the documents to me, and I glance through the summary.
"The father of the baby," Lady Elsa continues, voice grim, "is her uncle."
I look up slowly. Everyone is silent now.
"So this could be trauma," she adds, "disguised as delusion. Or something darker wearing human skin."
Seth, ever the voice of reason, speaks up, calm but already dismantling the chaos.
"Let us not assume anything until we have met this woman and seen the child ourselves."
That's our Seth, a walking archive of logic, a one-man library of inconvenient truths.
He continues, eyes narrowing slightly as his thoughts spool into words.
"Regardless of her relationship with her uncle, and even if this is rooted in trauma, why describe horns and hooves? Why not simply say the child is a demon? Why add those specific details?"
The room falls silent.
No sarcasm from Jamey. No commentary from Alec.
Even Lady Elsa looks up, brows slightly furrowed.
And honestly? I have to agree.
I turn toward Seth. "You are right. And Gabriel is not exactly known for scaring easily. Something about this child unsettled him enough to call us."
Jamey leans back, arms stretched above his head like he is trying to crack the tension in his spine.
"So. What's the plan?"
Seth and I speak at the same time.
"It's…"
We both stop, glance at each other.
Jamey freezes mid-stretch, one eye squinting.
"What are you two now, spiritually conjoined?"
A grape meets his face, square on the cheek.
I clear my throat, victorious.
"As I was trying to say, it is too late to act tonight. You guys should sleep over. We will head to the hospital at nine in the morning and check out this demon-baby situation then."
I scan the room, meeting each gaze in turn.
"Sound good?"
One by one, heads nod.
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Moonlight spills across the floor.
Seth is warm against my back, hand resting lightly on my hip.
Still, my thoughts circle the same question.
"What do we do if the baby really is a demon?"
He rubs slow circles between my shoulders. "We cannot kill a newborn, can we?"
I do not answer, only hum softly, exhaustion blurring faith and fear.
He pulls me closer, voice fading. "We will figure it out tomorrow. Sleep first. See what the morning brings."
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We are ten minutes from the hospital when my phone buzzes.
Gabriel.
I answer, expecting, hoping, for something polite. Something resembling human warmth.
Instead: "I'm at entrance two. When are you arriving?"
No hello. No "how was the honeymoon?"
Okay. That last bit might have been too hopeful. But still… manners?
"Ten minutes," I reply flatly.
Then hang up.
Back to you, Mr. Gabriel.
Right on cue, we meet him at Entrance Two.
I do not look at him, just keep walking as I pass, my voice low but clear.
"Take us to the mother first."
He says nothing, just obeys.
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Five minutes later, we reach the maternity ward.
I stop the team at the door, palm raised.
"I want to observe her before we go in."
From behind the glass, we watch.
An elderly woman and a priest sit beside the bed, flanking the mother like silent bookends. The priest is speaking, fast, relentless, barely pausing to breathe.
Elizabeth, the mother, does not match the image I had pictured.
No wild eyes or shrieking madness. No disheveled terror.
She is beautiful. Serene, even. Thick golden hair braided neatly over one shoulder. Her large green eyes are calm yet haunted. And when she blinks, it lingers a fraction too long, like someone trying to shut out the world.
The priest leans closer, voice tense.
"You cannot go around claiming the baby is a demon. The community will think you have lost your mind. They will lock you up."
She stares forward, jaw tight, eyes unblinking.
He does not stop. "Who do you think they will believe? You? Or the baby?"
Her fists clench.
"I do not care," she whispers. "I do not want him."
Then she lifts her eyes to his. And her voice cracks, but not her conviction.
"I know what I saw."
That is our cue.
I push open the door and step inside, my expression neutral, unreadable. I take my place at the foot of her bed and offer a smile polished to perfection.
"Hi. My name is Max. We are here to ask a few questions about your baby. May we?"
The priest instantly rises, one arm outstretched to shield her.
"Who the hell are you? And what business do you have with Elizabeth and her child?"
I shift my gaze to him, calm, measured, unblinking.
"My business is with Elizabeth. You do not get to answer for her."
He opens his mouth, but she cuts in, gently lowering his arm.
"It is not my baby. I told Father Peter already. I do not want him."
I have brought Seth and Lady Elsa with me. The rest of the team stands guard at the entrance, alert and waiting.
"Well then…" I turn my attention to her. My tone neither softens nor hardens. "That means you cannot stop us from taking him. Can you?"
Her eyes flicker, but she does not flinch.
"You can do whatever you want. I refuse to claim that little Satan personified."
I extend my hand toward Lady Elsa. She is already ready, handing me a sheet of paper and a pen.
"Then write it down."
I hold the items out to Elizabeth. "Relinquish your rights. Put it in writing, and he is gone."
She hesitates.
And I feel it, the shift.
My discernment flares like a match struck in darkness.
"Or…" I narrow my eyes. "Do you just want to hold onto your trophy a little longer?"
The words hit their mark.
She snatches the pen and scribbles the statement, handing the page over with trembling fingers.
It is done.
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The nurse leads us down the corridor.
The further we go, the quieter the hospital becomes. The hum of machines fades. The smell of antiseptic turns sharp like ozone, or like lightning trapped in glass.
Halfway down the hall, a little girl skips ahead of her mother, clutching a stuffed rabbit.
"She's right there, Mommy! Baby Lila's waiting!"
Her laughter cuts through the stillness like sunlight through fog until it doesn't.
The moment we near the nursery door, she stops.
Her small hand freezes midair. Then she drops the toy.
The rabbit hits the tiles. The girl's knees buckle.
Her mother gasps, catching her before she hits the floor.
The nurse leading us rushes in, her voice all authoritative as she checks the girl for injuries or signs of distress, but we already know.
The air thickens, humming against my skin.
It's him.
The aura leaks from the nursery like smoke seeping through a keyhole, black at first, then twisting, refracting into faint gold at the edges, as if corruption and holiness are wrestling for supremacy.
Jamey, his eyes locked on the smoke, walks straight into Alec. Alec spins around, maybe from irritation, maybe because even he's jumpy.
Jamey doesn't notice. He tugs at my sleeve.
"Boss, call me crazy, but I've watched enough horror movies to know that black, smoky auras never end well." He leans closer, his voice lowering as the shadows breathe around us. "Just so you know, I'm sleeping in your room tonight. Smack in the middle of you and Seth."
I exchange a look with Seth. His Silver Breath sharpens the air between us, and for a heartbeat, the corridor seems to tremble. The fluorescent lights flicker, not from electricity but from awareness.
The Living Scripture stirs beneath my skin, each glyph glowing faintly.
Not fear, it whispers through my bones. Memory.
The nurse, oblivious, straightens the little girl and guides her mother away.
As they pass, the child opens her eyes, pupils wide, voice barely a whisper.
"He's not bad… he's loud."
Then she clings to her mother's neck, trembling.
Silence folds over the corridor again.
Seth's voice is low, reverent. "Whatever's inside that room, it isn't ordinary darkness. I need to understand why Elizabeth saw horns and hooves or whether it was her fear… or the devil twisting the truth. He's clever that way, turning innocence into something to be despised, until even light looks monstrous."
I step closer to the door. My reflection in the glass looks wrong, blurred, rippling as if the air itself cannot decide what's real.
Beneath my ribs, the Living Scripture flares once more, gold threading up my throat.
"Not now," I whisper.
But it burns anyway, as though reaching for its kin.
Beside me, Seth's Silver Breath responds. The two forces, gold and silver, curl toward each other like opposite ends of a prayer.
He grips the handle and slowly pushes the door open.
A sound like the first breath of creation slips through the gap, soft, cosmic, endless.
Inside, the lights dim as if bowing. The cradle is haloed in smoke and light that should not coexist.
Within it lies the child.
A baby, impossibly still. Skin pale as morning milk, veins faintly luminous beneath the surface. His tiny fists are clenched, and between his lashes, silver, not grey, but unmistakably silver.
Each exhale leaves a trace of mist that drifts upward, forming faint shapes. Not letters. Not words. Just movement, like language trying to remember itself.
The Living Scripture within me hums louder, every glyph along my arms shifting in silent recognition.
Seth exhales, his voice barely a whisper. "He's breathing something holy."
I cannot move. The air tastes ancient. The veil between Heaven and Earth thins with every rise and fall of his chest.
Then the baby opens his eyes.
They are not gold. Not silver. They are both.
And every light in the room bows.
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The glow deepens, spreading outward until the walls shimmer like glass catching divine breath. The smoke rises, soft as prayer, curling toward us.
The Living Scripture flares against my skin, not in warning, but in reverence.
Seth's hand finds mine. The Silver Breath steadies, weaving with the gold in quiet harmony.
Somewhere beyond the veil, something watches. Approving. Waiting.
I whisper the name that forms unbidden in my heart.
"Israel."
The baby blinks once, as if he hears it.
And then, everything falls silent.
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Thank you for reading Chapter Two of Arc Two.
This chapter plays with contrasts, humor on the shore, warmth in reunion, and the sudden drop into divine unease.
Elizabeth's calm hides a greater storm, and Israel's arrival marks the turning point of Heaven's involvement on Earth.
Tell me your thoughts.
Did the humor make you smile?
Did Israel's presence leave a mark?
And most of all… what do you think Heaven just set in motion?