Chapter 138
- Evan -
Our fists collided like thunder splitting the sky.
Fire roared off of Josh's shoulders with every swing, each strike filled with desperate, terrified strength. I meet him blow for blow, not to win, not to break him—but to keep him here with us, in this moment.
Our boots scraped across shattered concrete. The smell of burned earth and sulfur choked the air. The portal behind us howled—pulling, dragging, and hungry like a beast whose cage was finally lifted.
Josh screamed—raw, cracked, animal-like.
I tasted blood.
My ribs rattled when his fist connected.
My knuckles split when my fist hit him as well.
This was not war. It was survival.
"Come back to us, damn it!" I shouted through gritted teeth.
"I am trying," his voice cracked like molten glass.
Fire ignited around us in a swirling arc—heat slashing across my cheek.
Two brothers in a blood fight to the death if it had to come to it.
The wind lay still as if the oxygen was pulled out of the atmosphere.
We froze; his fire stilled.
A pulse, like a heartbeat, rippled from the universe, blowing us outward.
Then something landed as if dropped from heaven itself. The blast knocked Josh and me to the ground.
Kaysi!
She had hit the ground between us. Her knees nearly buckled, her ragged hospital gown was torn, and IV bruises were still yellowing under her skin.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were awake.
Alive, burning but not with fire, with command.
The air bent around her presence, as if reality remembered her existence.
Both Josh and I remained frozen.
A cold shiver licked up my spine.
She didn't scream. She didn't plead with just one word; she spoke—
"ENOUGH!"
Light detonated outward from her—soundless, pure, blinding.
It didn't knock us out of use, but yet locked us into ourselves. As if calling us from the depths of hell.
I felt my pulse sync with hers.
Josh's fire settled into a steady, not dead flame.
No fear.
No haze.
No demon hands twisting our minds.
Just us, whole within a sound mind.
Her hands shook as she lifted it between us and walked to Josh.
"We don't have time for this," Se whispered, voice thin and raspy, trembling but unwavering. "Thanks to the battle here, some of the lines were broken. What limited power we had is gone—it won't be back for days. Becky is still asleep. Due to this blackout, the resources we have...the ventilator she's on will only last a few days."
Josh's voice caught.
"Becky needs you all of you!
Her voice broke, and she grabbed onto Josh's shirt like holding herself up was a war she had not yet recovered from.
Josh's knees hit the ground.
He caught her before she hit the dirt.
His eyes cleared—finally, painfully clear.
I wiped blood off my lip and swallowed hard.
The world roared back into motion.
The portal surged.
The witch screamed commands from the center of a summoning circle, her voice laden with something ancient and venom-laced.
Demons ripped through the cracks she opened.
Duke and Baby charged—James, Micah, and Josh moved in.
I set Kaysi gently beside the broken concrete slab—my hand lingered on her cheek just enough for us to remember we were real.
Then I stood.
Josh's flames rose—not chaotic, but firm and controlled, with purpose.
His eye locked on the witch like his life had already decided its ending.
"We end this," he said.
I stepped beside him. "So Becky can wake up." I finished.
Kaysi's voice, weak but fierce, followed:
"And so she never has to fear the dark again."
Micah just then screamed for her uncle—
Because the bakery doors burst open, and he stepped out, finally seeing the war they had been fighting in secret alone.
Everything converging.
Truth.
Memories.
And the portal was nearly wide enough to swallow a whole city block.
The witch stood at the edge of the portal like she was the only still thing in a world unraveling.
Her hair hung straight down her back.
Her dress was simple.
Her face—forgettable.
Not hungry in her expressions.
No wild grin.
No cruel delight.
She looked like a saint.
A librarian.
Someone you would never notice in a crowd.
And somehow—that made my blood run cold.
Because evil shouldn't look ordinary.
But it does.
It always has.
Josh's fire dimmed—not out of darkness—but recognition.
"She's just a woman," he whispers.
"No," Duke said quietly, voice low and carved from experience. "She's at the door—we must close!"
The witch smiled.
Not wide or unhinged but gentle.
"You should have let him go," she said softly, almost as if she were comforting us. "He wasn't meant to live this long."
Josh's jaw locked. Fire crawled up his neck.
My fists clenched so tightly my knuckles bled again.
The portal behind her expanded—edges tearing the sky.
Light poured out like bleeding daylight.
Shadows twisted into shapes of teeth.
The ground trembled under our feet.
And then—
The crack.
A sound like bone splitting.
Her skin fractured.
Thin white lines spiderwebbed across her cheek, her jaw, and her throat—like her mask had been worn for too long.
The voice that came next wasn't a single voice.
It was many.
Layered.
Hungry.
"He struggles pushing his limits, bending until he breaks. That is the nature of the first flame." She hissed.
Josh's fire reacted—like it recognized the voice.
The woman—
No.
That was the mask she wore. The witch turned slowly, as though her bones were bent at wrong angles, with too many joints and too much motion where motion shouldn't exist.
His eyes rolled toward us. Irises are turning black, then white, then blank.
The demon riding her mind pushed forward—
stretching her skin from inside.
"You cannot save what was made to be devoured by this world."
Josh stepped forward.
His shoulders squared.
Tears still fresh on his face, but his voice steady:
"Watch me."
The demon hissed—skin slitting wider, jaw elongating, teeth pressing through.
Uncle stood on the sidelines watching as Micah stood immersed in glowing energy.
Micah's uncle went pale. Hands trembling. As he silently waited.
"Uncle…" Micah whispered, voice breaking open like a wound that never healed. Her eyes were wet and afraid, and guilt was in everything at once.
The witch's demon laughed, breaking our attention.
A horrible, bending voice deep in the bone and rasp.
"I didn't know how to tell you," Micah said, breathless. "I thought—you would look at me... The way the rest of the family used to look at me.
He choked, eyes flooded with fear and love, mixing both at the same time.
"No," he whispered, stepping forward, voice breaking. "You're not alone; I told you before you were gifted. I supported you when you helped my daughter and led me to Armaan. You should never be ashamed. You fought like you were alone. You're not!"
Micah exhaled a sound of grief and relief tangled together.
He reached her and wrapped her in a big hug.
The way he held her was like a father holding on to a lost child. A child he's lost twice.
"I should have never let you fight this by yourself," he sobbed.
Micah closed her eyes for a second and leaned into him.
Armaan looked away, hiding a tear in his sleeve. Tomo stood still, sighed like he finally understood something of his own.
James quietly bowed his head, heart visible in the lines of his face.
Uncle grabbed James and Armaan. Thank you for all the help you two have given.
How did you? James questioned.
A feeling, but I wanted to wait until Micah was ready to tell me.
Josh and I watched them—
— and something inside us clicked into place.
Family, whether blood or chosen, makeshift or not, is worth protecting.