Something had happened—something so jarring, so unexpected, that it shattered Ben's sense of reality. The angel's words still echoed in his mind, though Ben couldn't quite recall the face or the moment. He only remembered a vague urgency: Go home, the angel had said, check on your family. But that was only a story, a clever fabrication to keep Ben grounded in the illusion of a normal human life. The angel, after all, was a master of deception. He cloaked the truth, not just in riddles and half-truths, but in a blanket of forgetfulness. With a flicker of celestial power, he erased whole hours from Ben's memory—everything from the desperate dash to the hospital with Katrina to the wild, pulsating chaos that erupted in the aftermath. For Ben, those moments simply vanished, replaced with uneasy gaps and a lingering sense that something was terribly wrong.
Yet, in hindsight, Ben should have realized something was amiss. The world around him had grown stranger by the hour, the air charged with a tension that made his skin prickle. The scenes he'd witnessed—the whispering shadows, the flicker of unnatural lights, the sudden bursts of fear in the eyes of strangers—should have been enough to warn him. But the angel's manipulation ran deep. With his memory wiped, Ben moved through those days in a fog, believing his life was still his own, unaware of the forces converging around him.
Meanwhile, the angel received new orders, a summons from realms Ben could not imagine. There was an urgent hunt for Volva—a being or artifact of unimaginable importance—and the demons, ever hungry for power, were closing in. The angel, bound by duty, had to intervene. He left Ben with a flimsy excuse: family drama, nothing more. Another lie, spoken with the ease of a being who'd bent reality for millennia. And then the angel vanished, leaving Ben alone at the center of a gathering storm.
It was in those first days after the angel's departure that fate began to play its hand. On the second night, Katrina's behavior shifted—her eyes distant, her words laced with secrets she refused to speak aloud. She moved through the apartment with an anxious energy, sometimes staring at Ben as if she could see through his very soul. Something was building inside her, a revelation that would soon burst forth, changing everything Ben thought he knew about himself, about Katrina, and about the child she carried.
The turning point came on a Monday morning, unremarkable at first glance. Ben and Katrina decided to go for a walk, hoping the fresh air might lift Katrina's spirits after the ordeal with the pills—a prescription Ben now suspected had never been real. The city streets were quiet, the sky a moody gray, as if holding its breath.
Then chaos erupted, sudden and savage. A lion, monstrous and crazed, had escaped from the Babbel city zoo. It was no ordinary animal; by the time it reached Newtown, the creature had already slaughtered forty-two people, leaving a trail of blood and panic in its wake. Its presence in their neighborhood was like a nightmare breaching daylight. People scattered, screaming, desperate to find shelter. But even in the terror, Ben felt a chill—something about the lion's rampage was orchestrated, unnatural. He sensed the presence of something else, lurking just beyond sight: a demon, serving as the messenger for Elixer, guiding the beast's every move.
In the chaos, a woman clutching her baby boy tried to flee, but destiny intervened cruelly. She tripped, her head striking a metal pole with a sickening crack, and crumpled to the asphalt. Her grip loosened, and the baby—no more than a year old—stumbled free, tottering alone in the street as the world reeled around him.
The baby wandered, innocent and smiling, oblivious to the danger. He toddled straight toward the lion, who now stood just yards away, its muzzle stained red, eyes burning with a predatory fire. The lion's muscles rippled as it crouched, tail lashing the air. Above, unseen by mortal eyes, Elixer swirled within the gusting wind, his spirit caught in the currents. He watched with a hunger that transcended the earthly spectacle, searching for signs: Was this child a creature of the wind, an angelic heir, or a spirit incarnate? If the child bore even a glimmer of the divine, Elixer could seize him, using his essence as a key to break the shackles that bound him.
Time seemed to stand still. The lion stalked forward, saliva glistening on its fangs, every muscle coiled for the kill. The baby, still grinning, reached out chubby hands, as if greeting an old friend. He didn't cry, didn't shrink away—his calm was uncanny, a silent challenge to the laws of nature. All around, people watched in horror, paralyzed by fear and awe. No one dared to move, not even to help the unconscious mother whose limp body lay sprawled across the street.
Within the lion's mind, the demon debated. This child was different—his composure, his aura, hinted at immortality, at power the demon both craved and feared. With a silent command, the demon urged the lion to devour the boy, to test his limits, to draw out whatever magic might be hidden within him.
Despite the absence of high-tech cameras, a few bystanders fumbled with their old phones and disposable cameras, desperate to capture the surreal scene. A flash burst in the air, startling the lion, and for a moment, its attention shifted, rage flaring as it whipped around to snarl at the cameraman. That brief distraction was pure animal instinct; the demon, however, was relentless. It yanked the lion's mind back to its true target, compelling the beast to lunge for the child.
It was in that split second, as death loomed over the innocent, that Katrina acted. Something inside her snapped—an instinct, a memory, a force she could not name. She refused to let the nightmare unfold. With no thought for her own safety, she darted forward, snatching up a pair of stones from the gutter. With surprising strength and precision, she hurled them at the lion, the rocks striking its flank with a dull thud. The beast spun around, angered and confused, its attention now fixed on Katrina.
But what happened next defied explanation. Katrina didn't cower or run. Instead, she stood her ground, radiating a fierce, unyielding energy. As the lion advanced, Katrina's voice rang out—not in words, but in a raw, primal sound that echoed across the street. For a heartbeat, the lion hesitated, its claws scraping the pavement. The air around Katrina shimmered, as if an invisible barrier had sprung up between her and the beast. Those who witnessed it would later swear they saw something impossible: the lion, so bloodthirsty moments before, faltered, its aggression draining away in the face of Katrina's presence.
In that moment, something ancient and powerful awoke within her, a force that would soon reveal secrets neither she nor Ben were prepared to face. The world held its breath, teetering on the edge of revelation.
The lion thundered toward her, its muscles bunching, golden mane blazing in the harsh sunlight. Everyone watching was sure Katrina would be torn apart. But then, in an instant, the beast halted. It skidded to a stop, claws raking the earth, its great amber eyes locked onto hers. Katrina didn't so much as blink. She stepped forward, her right hand outstretched, palm open—not in defense, but in command. Her voice rang out, powerful and melodic, as she spoke in a language so old it seemed to vibrate through the ground itself. It was the language of beginnings, the one spoken before people and animals grew apart, before the world was divided by misunderstanding and fear. The lion's resistance crumbled. It dropped low, folding its forelegs, head bowing deeply as if in worship, even as invisible forces tried to drive it wild. The demons pushing from within were fierce, but before Katrina's ancient words and presence, they were powerless. The lion stayed down, utterly subdued.
Around them, the world erupted in disbelief. News crews and bystanders alike shouted, jostling for position. Flashes popped like lightning. Everyone wanted proof—a photo, a quote, a video—something to prove they had witnessed the impossible. Ben stood among them, rooted to the spot. His mind was a blank white roar, his body unresponsive. He was swallowed by the enormity of what he'd just seen, unable to process the gap between reality and whatever this new world was becoming.
For Katrina and her family, this was the true beginning—the moment their ordinary lives ended and the double war started. On one side, they faced the hungry, prying eyes of the world: reporters, skeptics, government agents, all desperate to uncover the secret behind Katrina's power. On the other side, they battled the darker, more insidious threat—the relentless demonic spirits of Elixer who would not rest until they'd torn apart everything Katrina loved.
Chaos never let them breathe. The crowd surged, desperate for answers, crushing in from every side. Katrina's heart pounded as she led her family out the back, ducking cameras, slipping through alleys. They barely escaped, cramming into their battered car, pursued by shouts and the blinding blue of police lights. Even at home, there was no peace. One man in particular—a doctor whose eyes missed nothing—had been watching Katrina ever since the strange events at the hospital. He was always lurking on the edge of the crowd, clipboard in hand, recording every detail. He followed them now, convinced more than ever that Katrina was something entirely different, something the world had not seen for centuries.
That night, their home felt smaller, walls pressing in with the weight of secrets. Ben, still in shock, sat hunched on the edge of the couch, staring at nothing. Katrina found him there, her own exhaustion hidden behind a gentle smile. "Honey, what's wrong?" she asked, though she already guessed.
Ben looked up, searching her face for the person he thought he knew. "Can you please tell me what happened back there? How did you do it?"
Katrina's eyes softened. She gave a small, almost wistful smile. "Stop worrying so much. Come on, let's celebrate. I finally remembered the language my dad used to speak with animals."
Ben blinked. "Your dad talked to animals? That's… How? Was it a trick?"
She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "No tricks. My dad had a whole menagerie—lions, elephants, wolves. He'd speak, and they'd listen as if he was one of them. He taught me, little by little, though I never thought I'd remember. Today, it came flooding back. It saved us, Ben. It really did."
Ben wanted to doubt, to find some logical explanation, but the memory of the lion's obedience burned away all skepticism. He believed her, because the world was no longer the same.
As the night deepened and the house fell quiet, a new strangeness crept in—one that felt even more personal and unsettling. Much later, while Katrina slept beside him, Ben's dreams twisted and churned. At five in the morning, he snapped awake, heart pounding. Somewhere in the house, the unmistakable sound of children's laughter echoed—high and bright, bubbling with the joy of play. He sat up, ears straining. It faded instantly, leaving only the hush of predawn. He waited, but the house remained silent, every shadow familiar and harmless.
Ben lay back down, but the laughter returned, closer this time. He heard the shrill voices of children bickering—one piping up, demanding, "Give me my toy gun!" The words chilled him. He and Katrina had no children. Their relatives lived far away, no one ever visited. The sound made no sense, and yet it was as real as the sheets tangled around his legs. He leapt from the bed, searching the hallway, peering into every room. Nothing. The house was empty, the laughter gone.
He wrestled with himself, wondering if the stress had finally broken him. Perhaps these were echoes of everything that had happened, his mind playing tricks. But when he tried to sleep again, the voices returned, persistent now, as if daring him to acknowledge them. This time, Ben didn't move. He cracked his eyes open, heart thundering, and waited. The laughter drifted closer, brushing the edges of his reality, as if something unseen was tiptoeing through the house, testing the boundaries of their world.
He lay frozen, listening, as the ancient language Katrina had spoken earlier seemed to hum faintly in the walls—a reminder that the veil between worlds was thinner than he'd ever believed, and that what had begun with the lion was far from over.