The corridor below seemed to swallow the sound of footsteps, even as Martin stepped lightly over broken shards of glass. Ghost, up ahead, signaled each turn with two raised fingers — in total silence.
Saravia followed close behind, her hair swaying as she dragged her iron anchor gently, just enough to feel the weight in her hand without scratching the concrete floor. Daytona, at the rear, walked hunched over, adjusting her black cloak around her shoulders as if it were part of her skin.
The underground lab was a maze of exposed pipes, warning signs in German, and poorly positioned cameras — some blinking red, others rotating in search of movement. But whenever one seemed to aim, Ghost appeared from nowhere: with an improvised scalpel, he cut the right wire. A snap, a flash of a short circuit, and everything went dark.
With each room they passed, Daytona felt a buzzing in her head — Beelzebub, not speaking loudly now, but breathing inside her mind, like he was part of the oxygen she pulled in just to keep from fainting under the tension.
"Do you feel it, Daytona? Life thrashing down here. Humans trying to keep secrets that aren't theirs…"
She ignored him for now. The heat from her missing finger throbbed — a reminder that from here on out, there was no turning back.
At the end of the corridor, a metal sign:
"Level 5 Area — Restricted Access."
Two armored doors, a retina scanner, and two guards with rifles slung across their chests.
Ghost raised a closed fist. Saravia stopped dragging the anchor. Martin was breathing like he was about to puke.
— "How are we getting past them?" Martin whispered, his voice cracking.
Saravia gave a lazy half-smile, tilted her head. — "Daytona."
She stepped forward slowly, lights flickering across her face — hair clinging to her forehead, eyes a shade of red so deep they seemed to vanish into the dark.
Beelzebub whispered again, low, almost lovingly:
"Show them who rules this maze, girl."
Daytona raised her hand, clenched her fist — and something pulsed beneath the skin.
One of the guards heard a metallic creak in the pipes above — he looked up, but it was too late: Ghost, in a silent leap, landed behind him, pulled the rifle aside, snapped his neck with a crack. The other turned, but Saravia snapped her fingers — the anchor, with a short chain, flew like a battering ram and slammed into his chest, hurling him against the metal door.
The thud echoed through the corridor. Daytona felt her pulse spike. Martin just watched, frozen.
Beelzebub chuckled inside her.
"Move forward. It's yours now."
She stepped to the retinal terminal. Ghost jammed a screwdriver into the panel, forced the seal, tore through copper wires. A snap, a short circuit. The armored door gave way, opening slowly.
Inside, the dim light smelled of solvent, grease, and stale coffee.
Ghost held Daytona by the shoulder, whispering hoarsely:
— "The main hallway is packed with heat sensors. You go above."
She understood. Turned her face to Martin, who trembled.
— "Stay here. If anyone comes, vanish."
He just nodded.
Saravia, leaning against the wall, slowly twirled her anchor.
— "Go on, Daytona. Show them what a Demon is."
Daytona didn't respond. She crouched, hooked her fingers under a maintenance grate, and pulled. The metal groaned — the smell of old dust and damp mold hit her nostrils. She climbed up, crawling through the ducts like a predator.
Inside, everything was dripping metal, creaking at every elbow bend.
She breathed slowly, listening to the hum of machines and, underneath, murmurs of voices from sealed rooms.
Up ahead, a glint: a ventilation opening directly into the Central Lab.
Below, men in lab coats moved about, fiddling with tubes, reading holographic graphs projected on glass tables.
In the center, Daytona saw it: the security vault, reinforced, with silver chains locking down a thick, black book — almost alive from its sheer age.
All around it, projectors and devices recorded every page.
A weight pressed on her chest. Her heart beat like a silent siren.
"You want it? Then take it. Nothing comes for free, Daytona."
Beelzebub seemed to savor her tension like rare wine.
She pushed the grate slowly, trying not to make a sound. But the hinge squealed — so sharp one of the scientists turned his face instantly.
— "There's something up there!" — he shouted, pointing.
Daytona bit her lip.
No more hiding. It was time.
She felt her blood boil. The bones in her pinky finger burned with phantom pain — a reminder of minutes ago.
"Now, Daytona. Let them taste your power."
Without hesitation, she bit into her ring finger — ripped it off with a snap.
Pain exploded like a white-hot blade, but she almost smiled. She spat the bleeding finger into her palm, licked the blood to focus.
In a single move, she dropped the chunk of flesh through the open grate — it landed in the center of the hologram table, right in front of the vault.
For a moment, silence. Confused stares. Lab coats glancing at each other.
Then the finger twitched. Swelled. Skin tore open in a bloody explosion, thorned tentacles ripping through the air.
Metal was shredded. Papers flew like bloody confetti. A spike pierced a man's throat, another stabbed a tech trying to flee. The vault cracked on the side — a jet of hot vapor hissed out.
Daytona panted inside the duct. The ringing in her ears turned into muffled laughter:
"You're making history now, my queen…"
Blood dripped on her face. The smell was nauseating — iron, sweat, dread.
She rose, crawled a few more meters, aimed for the larger opening above the room.
Ready to jump.
Ready to put her hands on that book.
And finish what she started.
White smoke still spiraled from the lab as Daytona dropped from the vent, landing with a heavy thud. The air was thick with dust, blood splattered across monitors, scientists' bodies sprawled in grotesque shapes — some still twitching like crushed insects.
In the center, the cracked vault spat hot vapor. Daytona moved slowly, her black cloak brushing her ankles. Beelzebub whispered, nearly proud in her mind:
"Truth does not belong to the weak. Claim it."
She reached out, grabbed the book — heavy, the cover felt like stitched skin. As she lifted it, the silver latch popped open on its own, as if recognizing who held it.
Hurried footsteps echoed behind. Martin appeared in the doorway, panting, Saravia right after, anchor resting on her shoulder, and Ghost — impeccable, eyes scanning the carnage.
— "You got it?" — Ghost asked bluntly.
Daytona held up the book, answering only with her eyes. In the corner, Saravia chuckled, a wild grin spreading.
— "There's your bound oracle…" — she mocked, slowly spinning the anchor.
Ghost gestured sharply:
— "Time to go. Before reinforcements arrive."
They moved back through the halls, now quiet, each step echoing on damp metal panels, every pipe bend whispering secrets. A silent alarm buzzed far off — someone surely knew about the break-in. But no one dared appear.
At the emergency exit, Saravia raised her palm, pressed it to the cracked concrete. A circle of markings spread through the fissures — like a mechanical flower opening. The ground gave way in a circular rift, revealing an old drainage tunnel.
Martin blinked, jaw dropped. — "How… how did you…"
Saravia shrugged. — "Leviathan gave me a few keys."
They moved through the damp tunnel, climbing uneven steps, until they emerged again in the damp woods of the Green Hell — tree canopies swallowing the moonlight that trickled between branches. Daytona pulled the cloak close, clutching the book to her chest.
Out there, far from the lab, Ghost pointed to a clearing covered in dry leaves — a natural hole in the living wall of the German forest. Martin, still breathless, dropped his backpack, Saravia planted her anchor in the ground, marking territory like a totem. Daytona knelt beside a smooth stone, opened the book across her legs.
The leather breathed — yes, breathed — as if it had a heartbeat. Each page creaked when turned, exuding the scent of burnt incense and damp paper.
Ghost lit a small lantern, illuminating the pages. His face looked like a living skull under the beam. Saravia sat beside Daytona, chin resting in her palm.
Martin stood behind, eyes wide as he watched the woods.
Daytona ran her fingers across the first page. Latin letters, mixed with runes that shimmered when read.
Beelzebub blew softly into her mind — a drawn-out voice, heavy with centuries:
"Read aloud. Let them hear what rises against us…"
Daytona took a deep breath, feeling the night pulse in sync with the book. Then whispered the lines:
— "Metatron. The Voice of God. Who commands all others…"
The page showed a figure of pure light, made of mouths and eyes, surrounded by a halo of code. Tiny lines described how his word could not be defied — any decree was immutable law.
Saravia tilted her head, crooked smile.
— "So that's the top boss."
Ghost lifted his chin, emotionless:
— "The Truth. Lucifer will enjoy seeing him again."
Daytona flipped the page. The lantern's flame flickered in her eyes.
— "Amoriel. Guardian of Love. Nullifies possession… purifies corruption…"
The drawing depicted an androgynous being made of flaming petals, wings open like a burning garden.
Martin swallowed hard. — "He could… remove Beelzebub from you?"
Daytona smirked. — "I'd like to see him try."
Saravia gave a dry chuckle. — "Same with Leviathan."
Next page.
— "Uriel. Flame of Justice. Solar warrior. Burns even sins."
Ghost muttered, thoughtful: — "That one won't want to talk."
Forest air brought a scent of wet wood, mixing with the acrid smell of the book. Daytona turned another page.
— "Raphael. Healer of Souls. Restores bodies. Restores minds."
She paused. Her finger brushed an illustration of a crown of flowers floating on water. For a moment, a flash of memory: her father, her mother, the car flipping in the night, the circle of candles — it all throbbed behind her eyes.
Beelzebub whispered:
"Raphael could try to heal you… or destroy what I am inside you."
She didn't reply. Flipped the page forcefully.
— "Gabriel. The Herald. Hope. Voice that announces fates."
Saravia raised an eyebrow, teasing: — "He must be cute."
Daytona didn't smile.
One more page.
— "Zadkiel. Forgiveness. Dissolves sins. Makes even demons surrender…"
Ghost clicked his tongue. — "A threat to Lucifer. A danger to us all."
Martin trembled behind them, hugging his knees.
Daytona inhaled deeply, smelling the sharp scent of the final page.
— "Lioriel. Guardian of Secrets. Knows all of Heaven, Earth, and the Beyond…"
She looked up at Saravia, who returned the gaze like a mirror. The night cracked — branches breaking, insects buzzing.
Beelzebub exhaled, almost proud, inside her:
"Now you know their names. Now you know where to look. And they'll know you're coming…"
Daytona slowly closed the book, gripped the leather tight. The scent of the forest, damp earth, and healing blood — all merged into a single taste of metal and destiny.
In the dark, surrounded by the Green Hell, the four of them stood still, listening to the crushing silence.
And feeling, for the first time, that heaven, hell, and everything in between were breathing, watching.
Waiting.