The night was black and blue.

Not in the sky – though the stars had faded to a bruise – but in Max's bones. Every breath pulled through fractured ribs. His left shoulder still throbbed. His whole body felt like scorched wreckage stitched together with thread and willpower.

But he couldn't sleep.

He sat at the edge of the barn's doorway, wrapped in a threadbare blanket, elbows on knees. The field beyond was silver with dew, empty and quiet. Too quiet. His hand twitched over a phantom ember of Soulfire that no longer hurt but didn't comfort either.

He stared at his fingers.

What the hell have I become?

Max hadn't asked for this. Any of it. Not the Contract. Not Aamon. Not the fire that still curled inside him like a half-tamed wolf. All he wanted – all he wanted – was to save Liz.

He thought back to the motel. The ritual. Her face pale and unmoving in the hospital. All the quiet moments that had built into this silent war.

I broke the rules. I broke something.

"Demons," he whispered. "What are they?"

He didn't believe the old stories anymore. Horns and pitchforks. Eternal flames and fire-and-brimstone bargains. That was just branding. These things didn't want sin. They wanted structure. Hierarchy. Control.

They ran on contracts, obedience, leverage. Debt.

No different from banks or gods or corporations.

Just hungrier.

Max closed his eyes and listened to the wind. He didn't feel Liz's presence – not directly but the ache behind his ribs where she used to rest, soul to soul, still pulsed with quiet pain.

She was alive.

But something was changing.

He could feel it. Every time he touched fire now, it didn't roar – it whispered. Like the flames were watching him, waiting.

Footsteps behind him – quiet. Max didn't turn.

Ferron settled into a crouch beside him, a thermos in one hand, cane in the other. The old demonologist didn't speak for a while. Just sipped from the thermos and stared into the trees.

"Hell of a night," he finally said.

"Understatement," Max muttered.

Ferron nodded. "Dan saved you. Victor carried it. The girls? Still standing. Barely. But standing."

Max didn't reply. Just rubbed his thumb across the healed scar on his forearm.

"I felt something," he said quietly. "When they took her."

Ferron looked at him.

"Not just the possession," Max continued. "Not just demonic pressure. It was… deeper. Like a vacuum around her soul. It scared everything else away."

Ferron didn't flinch. Just exhaled slowly.

"Whatever cracked the sky over her pod? That wasn't from below. It was above. Older than the Contract system. Older than any demon we know of."

He paused.

"It doesn't want her dead, Max. It wants her open."

Max stared at him. "What does that mean?"

Ferron gave a weary half-smile. "You're asking the wrong question."

"Then give me the right one."

Ferron leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp.

"Why is she carrying it?"

Max said nothing.

The wind rustled the fields. A crow cawed in the distance, then fell silent.

Ferron stood slowly, tapping the end of his cane once.

"You want to save her, Jaeger. I believe that. But you're not just saving a girl anymore. You're burning holes through the world."

Max stared at the horizon, jaw tight.

"Then I guess I better finish the job."

His left hand twitched – just slightly – and for a moment, a flicker of Hellfire sparked blue across his knuckles. Not violent. Not screaming.

Just waiting.

Ferron didn't smile. But he nodded once, then turned and walked back into the barn.

Max stayed at the doorway, watching the blue bleed into morning.

…………………

The barn was still. Too still.

Chloe sat cross-legged beside Dan's sleeping form, her arms wrapped around her knees, head resting on her folded arms. She wasn't asleep. Just waiting. The golden light that had once pulsed from Dan's fingers was gone now, leaving his skin pale and clammy. But his breathing was steady. A rhythm she held onto.

Across the barn, Alyssa sat alone in the shadows, back pressed to the wall, her gauntlets lying across her lap. One was cracked clean through. The other had blood on it – hers, maybe. It didn't matter.

Neither spoke.

For a long time, only the creaking of old beams and the rustling wind beyond the barn doors filled the space between them.

Finally, Chloe whispered, "We're still here."

Alyssa didn't look up.

Chloe's voice trembled. "After everything… we're still here. But it feels like we're not."

Alyssa turned slightly, her eyes sharp. "Because the one person who held us together is gone."

Chloe flinched.

Alyssa's tone wasn't cruel. Just flat. Factual.

"Jack died," she added. "Now Liz is—" Her voice caught. She bit it off. "We followed Max. Trusted him. And what did that get us?"

Chloe lifted her head, red-rimmed eyes locking on her twin. "It kept us alive."

Alyssa scoffed, not cruelly – just exhausted. "Barely."

There was a pause. Then:

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You remember what Jack said?" Chloe asked quietly.

Alyssa didn't answer.

Chloe continued anyway. "The paper crane. That stupid little thing he gave Liz. Said it was for luck. Said he'd protect her." Her voice broke. "He never even had a chance."

Alyssa's eyes flickered – just once.

"I should've done more," Chloe whispered. "I should've seen the signs. I should've stopped him from coming."

"You couldn't have," Alyssa said.

Chloe's voice cracked. "I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle this. But now—"

Her chest hitched. Her breath caught.

And she started to cry.

Quietly. No sobs. No wailing. Just a slow, breaking leak of grief that slipped between her fingers like water she couldn't hold.

Dan stirred beside her, still in deep sleep. She placed a hand on his arm and clenched her eyes shut.

"I don't want to lose anyone else," she whispered.

Across the barn, Alyssa said nothing.

But she picked up the broken gauntlet in her lap.

She ran her fingers along the crack. Then stood and crossed the room to where Ferron was seated near the old forge tools. He didn't move, but his eyes opened the moment she stopped in front of him.

"Can you fix these?" she asked.

Ferron glanced at the fractured gauntlet, then at her.

"You planning to throw hands with a Demon Lord?"

Alyssa didn't blink.

"I already did."

He raised an eyebrow. "And?"

She held his gaze, voice flat.

"He's still breathing. I'm not done yet."

He studied her for a moment. Then took the gauntlet.

"No promises," he said.

"Good," Alyssa replied. "I'm tired of promises anyway."

She turned and walked back to the shadows.

Her back straight. Her face hard.

But her fingers trembled.

Just a little.

…………………

The barn was quiet. Moonlight slanted through shattered beams, casting pale blue light across the hay. Dan lay on his side, breath slow and shallow, face half-buried in his folded arm. He was asleep but not at peace.

Something stirred behind his eyelids.

Not a memory.

A force.

It came in pulses, like heartbeats but not his own.

The golden light that usually shimmered gently in his chest had deepened in hue, thickened. Now it licked at the edges of his aura like molten syrup, heavy and slow. And beneath it – something deeper stirred. Older.

Dan's body twitched.

Then arched.

A ripple of energy flared outward from his chest – just for a second. Enough to shake loose dust from the rafters. A lantern swayed on its hook.

Max stirred from across the barn, eyes half-open, frowning at the sudden flare.

Victor muttered in his sleep and rolled over.

Dan's hands began to glow – not just golden, but white-hot at the core, like something had superheated his soul.

In his dream, he stood in a black field.

No horizon. No sky.

Just a body, his own, surrounded by light.

He looked down – and saw bones beneath his skin. Light cracking through them.

He heard a voice – not words, not human. Just... intent.

A presence that wasn't Crux.

Wasn't Max.

Wasn't anything he recognized.

"Healer," it whispered. "But not just that."

The light surged – not soft, but blinding. Bones beneath his dream-skin lit up like iron struck by lightning.

"You will learn that healing doesn't only restore," the voice whispered again. "It transforms. It purges. And when necessary... it burns."

Dan gasped awake, choking back a scream. His hands sparked gold – and then dimmed.

Chloe, curled beside him, stirred but didn't wake.

Dan sat up slowly, heart hammering, chest slick with sweat.

He looked at his hands.

Still shaking.

Still glowing, faintly.

"What the hell am I turning into?" he whispered.

And across the barn, Max quietly watched him from the shadows – saying nothing.

But knowing that power like this never came for free.

…………………

Victor leaned against a half-toppled pillar, arms crossed, chewing a strip of jerky that tasted like old leather and regret.

Dan was asleep again, drained from whatever the hell that flare-up was. Alyssa sat polishing her gauntlets in the corner with quiet focus. Chloe dozed nearby, curled up with a blanket. Max stood by the open barn door, staring at the horizon.

Ferron crouched near a chalk circle, adjusting something faint and glowing in the dirt.

Victor cleared his throat. "So, can I ask a dumb question?"

Ferron didn't look up. "You've asked at least twelve since we met. Go ahead."

Victor squinted. "How strong are we, exactly? Like… if this was a game, what level are we?"

Ferron actually paused for a moment, then looked over his shoulder. "Low."

Victor blinked. "Low?"

Ferron stood and dusted off his hands. "Embarrassingly low."

"Excuse me? I punched a demon into oblivion. Straight through a hospital wall."

"And that first demon was a husk," Ferron said flatly. "Barely conscious. Instinct-driven. One step above a spirit leech."

Victor frowned. "What's the scale?"

Ferron raised a finger. "Lowest tier: Husk. That's what most demons are when they first manifest—weak, bestial, and expendable."

"Next: Fiend. Slight intelligence, some powers. Often lieutenants or scouts."

"Then: Corrupter. Sentient, strategic, able to possess or create contracts. The rank most rogue Contractors deal with."

"After that: Archdemon. Rare. Brutal. Capable of warping souls, reshaping terrain, commanding legions."

"And at the top – Demon Lords. Sovereigns of domains. Living myths."

He held up his final finger.

"And some say there's one step beyond that. But if those exist… we don't want to meet them."

Victor stared at him. "Where are we on that scale?"

Ferron smirked. "Somewhere between 'house cat' and 'angry wolf.'"

Victor exhaled. "You're kidding."

Ferron made a flat line with his hand. "You're just shy of 'heroic bystander.' You've survived. That's not the same as winning."

"But hold up," Victor said, glancing at Max. "Didn't he go toe-to-toe with Mammon?"

Ferron's eyes shifted to Max, narrowing. "Briefly. And only because something... cracked."

Max nodded. "I wasn't ready. But I think the Hellfire reacted. Like it wanted Mammon dead more than I did."

"You exceeded the scale," Ferron admitted. "Only for a moment. That's how anomalies work. But holding that kind of power too long will erase you if you're not ready."

Victor tilted his head. "So, he overclocked his soul?"

Ferron nodded once. "It nearly killed him. It still might."

Victor rubbed his jaw. "And what about me? I held off Kimaris. Then killed him."

"That," Ferron said, "shouldn't have been possible."

He stepped closer. "Kimaris is a Corrupter-level demon with precision control. You're not even awakened properly. But something inside you pushed back hard enough to win."

Victor blinked. "So… you're saying I'm special?"

"I'm saying you're lucky," Ferron corrected. "And luck runs dry fast in this war."

Max spoke again, calm but resolute. "We can't rely on luck anymore. If we want to survive – if we want to win – we evolve."

Ferron gave a faint, approving nod. "Then you need to push deeper. Awaken again. Find your core, and break it open."

Alyssa looked up from her gauntlets. "So, it's not just power… it's awakening?"

Ferron nodded. "Exactly. Soul evolution. A j-curve. Each stage is exponential. Growth isn't linear. It spikes."

Victor rubbed the back of his neck. "You're saying we're still... in tutorial mode."

Ferron shrugged. "Harsh, but accurate."

Victor cracked his knuckles. "Then I want out of it."

Max gave him a sideways glance. "You're not the only one."

Ferron looked between them, then stepped closer, serious now.

"Power won't save you. Not alone. But without it, you'll burn like the rest."

He pointed at Max.

"You shook the system. You made enemies that no one else would dare speak of. If you all don't evolve – soon – you're going to die. Or worse."

Max nodded slowly.

"Then we evolve."

Ferron's eyes narrowed, but he nodded once in return.

Outside, the sun pushed through the haze.

Somewhere out there, Liz was in the hands of monsters.

And this small, broken group?

They had a war to catch up to.

…………………

The fire in the pit had burned low.

Chloe sat near its embers, wrapped in an old grey blanket. The air inside the barn was cold, laced with damp ash and the metallic scent of scorched wood. A few quiet snores echoed from the far end – Dan curled up like a cat, Alyssa a still silhouette under tarp, Victor sprawled on hay like he'd fought gravity and lost.

Liz was nowhere. And that hurt worse than anything.

Chloe's fingers twisted the blanket tighter around her arms. She stared into the glowing coals, but all she saw were reflections: Jack's smile, the first time he held her hand, the paper crane he gave Liz. All gone now. And Liz—

Where are you, idiot? What have they done to you?

She didn't cry. Not tonight. She had nothing left to squeeze out. Her eyes felt dry and heavy, like stone.

"Can't sleep?" The voice came from just behind her.

Max.

He moved stiffly, still recovering, but he dropped beside her with a faint groan. He was bandaged now, shirtless under a heavy coat, soul-scarred and tired but alive.

She didn't respond at first.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?" She didn't mean for it to come out so bitter.

"For everything. For getting your friends pulled into this. For not saving Liz."

Chloe hugged her knees tighter. "You don't need to apologize. We made our own choices. Alyssa and I – we knew what we were walking into after Singapore."

She paused. "But I keep thinking… what if we can't bring her back?"

Max didn't answer immediately. He stared into the dying fire with her.

"I used to ask myself the same thing," he said. "Back when April died. When Liz first slipped into the coma. Every day, I wondered if I'd already failed. If there was nothing left to save."

Chloe turned to him, startled.

"What changed?"

Max looked tired but not broken.

"I stopped asking if." "I started asking how."

That landed. Chloe swallowed hard.

"I still don't know if I'm strong enough," she whispered.

"You are," Max said simply.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because you're still here."

Silence passed between them, gentle for once.

Then Chloe said, "She's still in there, right?"

Max nodded, gaze distant. "I can feel her. Like a thread. Tighter than ever. But twisted around something… wrong."

He reached into his coat and pulled something out – a small piece of scorched metal. It was curved, warped beyond recognition, but Chloe recognized it.

"The pod housing," she murmured.

Max turned it over slowly in his palm.

"I need to reach her," he said. "And I can't do it alone."

Chloe nodded slowly.

"Then we fight smarter. Harder. Together."

Max met her eyes.

"We're not survivors anymore," he said. "We're the counterattack."

And for the first time in days, something close to purpose lit behind his eyes.

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