The voice echoed inside Angelo's head like a curse.
"Time to destroy."
And with it—agony.
Angelo screamed. A guttural, soul-rending sound that tore through the room. Everyone froze. The sound didn't just hit their ears—it clawed at their souls.
His body twisted violently, as if something inside him was trying to rip its way out. He scraped the wooden floor, paint and splinters lodging under his nails. Then his nails tore off. Blood smeared across the wood as he kept clawing, kept moving, refusing to stop.
He slammed his head against the floor until the planks cracked beneath him. The pain should've knocked him out, but his body refused to let him fall unconscious. Blood spilled from his forehead, healed, and split open again. Tears, snot, and drool mixed with blood—pooling beneath his face.
"ANGELO!" Olivia shrieked, breaking free from James and Alex. She dropped to her knees, cradling him as his body convulsed in her arms. Foam spilled from his mouth; his eyes rolled back white.
Emma screamed and cried. Alex stood frozen, knuckles white as bone. James held Emma tighter, but even his arms trembled.
Sophia didn't move. She couldn't. Fear locked her in place—paralyzing, suffocating.
"Do something!" Olivia screamed at her, voice raw with desperation.
But Sophia only stared—at the mark burning on Angelo's back. It pulsed with ancient energy, spreading like wildfire beneath his skin. The glowing runes twisted into symbols no human had ever written.
His hair drained of color, turning bone-white.
Then—silence.
Angelo went still in Olivia's arms. Limp. Lifeless.
"No… no, no, no!" Olivia sobbed, shaking him. Her cries cracked the air like thunder. The marks on his back dimmed—and stopped glowing.
While this happened, the number of monsters at the church kept rising. They clawed at the barrier Father Aldric had raised, and now—it began to crack.
Panic erupted. People screamed, begging Aldric to save them, but he had nothing left. His materials were gone. His faith the only thing remaining.
He gripped a tall candleholder and shouted, "Everyone!"
The crowd turned toward him, eyes wet with hopelessness.
"Grab whatever you can!" he roared. "Make a circle! Keep the children in the middle! Keep them safe!"
He strode through the frightened crowd and stopped at the very front, candleholder pointed at the monsters. His voice did not waver.
"This is where we die! But if we must die—then we die fighting! Keep the children safe! Make sure they live!"
Something ignited in the trembling hearts around him. The hopeless stood up straighter. Parents kissed their children's foreheads one last time.
A mother whispered, tears streaming, "Keep living, for me. For your father. For everyone."
A father knelt before his sons. "Look after one another," he said, smiling through the fear. "And no more fighting."
They didn't want to let go. But he pushed them toward the center, then joined Aldric at the front.
One by one, the adults formed a circle around the children.
As the barrier fractured like glass, they shouted as one—
"I love you! Keep living for us!"
The barrier shattered.
They charged.
The monsters poured in. Flesh met claw, bone met teeth. The church became a slaughterhouse. People screamed, stabbed, burned, bit—fighting until the very end. But they were outnumbered. Overpowered. Torn apart.
They threw themselves before their children, using their own bodies as shields.
Blood covered everything—the floor, the pews, even the children. They were drenched in their families' blood. Limbs flew. Flesh burst.
Father Aldric was the first to fall. The rest followed.
Not a single child survived to see the morning.
The church had fallen.
Silverton had fallen.
The streets were rivers of blood—soldiers, civilians, all consumed.
Back at the Walker house, Olivia clutched her son's body—still, cold, lifeless.
Then—the air changed.
The marks on Angelo's body pulsed once.
Then again.
Faster.
Harder.
A shockwave erupted from him, throwing Olivia and Sophia across the room like ragdolls.
Outside, everything stopped.
Every creature within miles felt it—the return.
The ancient force they had fled from had awakened.
They turned toward Angelo's direction and trembled. Then they shrieked and howled, tearing into each other in blind panic, trampling over ruins in desperate retreat.
Angelo's body rose from the floor—slowly, unnaturally. He hovered midair, face down, arms limp.
His eyes rolled back into place. Then he looked up.
He stood on his feet, staring at his hands with cold, lifeless silver eyes.
But those eyes—weren't Angelo's.
He grinned. Wide. Ferocious.
And laughed.
Not one voice, but two—layered. One was his. The other was ancient. Vast. Hungry.
"I finally get to have some fun."
His gaze swept the room—Sophia, James, Alex, Emma's wide, terrified eyes—and finally, Olivia.
The grin twisted further. "We've got a good family," he said, the double voice dripping with menace.
Then—with a roar of wind and splintered wood—he blasted through the roof, rising high into the air.
The sky darkened. Thunder rolled.
Most creatures fled, but some lost their minds and charged straight toward him—flying, running, crawling.
He didn't even look at them. His eyes scanned the chaos below.
Then he spoke.
One word. Untranslatable. Inhuman.
"⟟̷₰͟⟒⨂͢⟊̸."
The charging monsters disintegrated midair—turned to dust.
He watched the rest flee.
Spoke another word.
"⛧͟⟟̸₰̶ᚱ̴⨂͟⟒̷⟊."
Every last creature dropped where they stood. No blood. No wounds. Just—gone. Souls ripped away in an instant.
Silence.
He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. "This body is still too weak," he muttered.
And then he fell.
A blur of light and power hurtling from the sky, he crashed back through the shattered roof. The impact split the floor open. Wood exploded, beams snapped, the entire room shook.
Dust filled the air. Debris rained down.
James shielded Emma as the floor gave way.
Angelo lay at the center of the crater, unmoving—yet untouched. A faint glow still lingered across his skin.
James was the first to move. He handed Emma to Alex and stumbled over the wreckage. His heart pounded as he leaned in—then froze.
Angelo's chest was rising.
"He's alive!" James shouted. "Angelo's still breathing!"
The others rushed forward—everyone except Alex. He held Emma tightly, knife in one hand, eyes fixed on Angelo.
Because it wasn't just Angelo who had returned.
The living room was ruined—roof torn open to the storm, walls splintered, glass shattered. The family couch was overturned and ripped apart.
The warmth that once filled this home was gone—replaced by a heavy, uneasy stillness.
Olivia knelt beside Angelo, brushing dust from his face with shaking hands. Sophia limped closer, blood trailing from a cut above her brow, but her eyes never left the crater.
The house still stood.
But the peace it once knew—was gone.
And it would never return.