As Angelo's consciousness drifted in the Void, his body lay still—examined, restrained, and feared by the military.
They had shifted from curiosity to desperation.
Deep beneath the surface, in a fortified research wing of the Special Threat Containment Division (STCD), Angelo rested in a high-security chamber.
General Nathaniel Pierce, the man whose voice alone could silence a room, personally oversaw the operation after reading the initial reports.
Nothing about the subject made sense.
Scalpels.
Saws.
High-intensity lasers.
Drills.
None of it worked.
Angelo's skin was impervious to every tool, every element, every method. Not a drop of blood. Not a scar. Not even a flinch.
They tried his eyes next, searching for a weakness—but found none.
Then came the internal approach.
Endoscopic procedures through his mouth, nose, and ears.
Probes entered, sensors scanned—but the readings were maddeningly normal.
No mutations.
No cybernetic implants.
No foreign masses.
Just a human boy… with impossible biology.
The only anomaly was the pulsating mark on his back—faint, rhythmic, alive.
Whenever instruments neared it, the mark reacted like a living nerve, sending violent static bursts through the monitoring systems.
A warning.
Then came the order from above.
"Wake him up… or put him down."
They flooded him with stimulants.
Adrenal triggers. Neural shocks. But nothing stirred him.
It was as if he wasn't asleep—but sealed.
Containment became the priority.
Restraints were forged from experimental alloys, reinforced with dampening fields.
Still, the scientists worked frantically, desperate to understand what this being truly was.
Meanwhile, Olivia, James, Alex, Emma, and Sophia had been taken to a nearby classified holding facility.
Interrogated. Again and again.
By Intelligence Operatives.
By Psych Evaluators.
By Tactical Strategists.
What did they know about Angelo?
What was his origin?
What was he capable of?
Olivia and James answered honestly—describing the boy they had raised, the son they loved.
Emma clung to her mother, wide-eyed and silent.
Alex spoke carefully. He didn't want them to hurt Angelo.
He was still his little brother… but something dark had begun to stir inside him.
Sophia, however, gave a different answer.
"Angelo's innocent. He's not a threat. There's something inside him—that's the real danger."
Her tone dropped — quiet, warning.
"You shouldn't try to wake it up."
When the interrogations ended, the family was confined to a shared observation cell.
The air hung heavy, like a storm about to break.
Alex sat in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees.
Emma clung to Olivia, trembling.
James sat silently, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the sealed door.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "Something's wrong. This isn't about answers. They're scared of him."
Alex finally spoke, his voice low.
"Maybe they should be."
Olivia flinched.
"Alex—don't say that."
"He destroyed the house, Mom. Crushed the floor like paper. You saw what he did to those things outside."
"They couldn't even touch him."
"They were going to hurt us," Olivia argued, her voice trembling. "He protected us."
"Did he?" Alex snapped, standing. "Or did that thing inside him just run out of time before turning on us?"
Sophia, quiet until now, finally looked up from the bench.
The fire in Alex's voice didn't faze her—she had seen that same fear before.
In others. In herself.
James turned to her.
"You know something, don't you? You studied the marks on him. Tell us the truth—who are you, and how can you do these things?"
Sophia nodded slowly.
"You all treated me like a member of your own family. You deserve to know the truth."
Emma tugged gently on her sleeve.
"Will you tell us another story?"
Sophia smiled softly and patted her head.
"Yes. But this one's scary. Can you handle it?"
"I can handle it," Emma said bravely, clutching her mother's arm. "I'm a brave girl."
Olivia held her close.
Sophia leaned back, eyes clouding with memory.
Years Ago
I once lived a peaceful life in a small forested village called Elderwood, far from any city.
My parents, Lucien and Miriam Hawthorne, were scholars and historians who traded the noise of civilization for the quiet pursuit of knowledge.
My father was obsessed with the unseen—old symbols, forgotten languages, tales others dismissed as myth.
I helped him clean his study and learned what I could.
We weren't perfect, but we were happy.
I was ten when my world ended.
That morning, I was playing with friends when we saw Mr. Richard running toward the forest's edge. He was the bravest man in the village. People followed him. So did we.
"When I got there, I heard people whispering. Someone had died."
"Did you see the dead body of Mister Jack?"
"It was a horrifying sight. I think something attacked him and killed him."
"Well, he was a drunk who challenged a black bear to a fist fight. Probably did the same this time and got himself killed."
"Yeah, Richard can't always keep him safe from himself, now can he?"
Before I could get closer, my mother, Miriam, grabbed me.
"What are you doing here?" she scolded.
"We just wanted to see what happened," I said.
My father appeared behind her, smiling gently.
"Go play somewhere else. There's been a bear attack—it's not safe."
So we went to Adam's house and played.
Days passed. Then another death. And another.
Whoever left their home at night never returned.
A rule was set: no one goes out after sunset.
For a while, it worked.
Then one evening, it happened again.
My family and I were planting a sapling beside our house when we heard a loud crash. It came from Mr. Richard's place.
People rushed toward the noise—then froze as the wall of his house exploded outward.
Something massive stepped through the dust.
Four-legged. Six feet tall at the shoulder.
Jagged armor for skin.
Six eyes—three on each side—glowing faintly in the dark.
A tail dragging through the dirt in slow, rhythmic swings.
It leaped at the Bakers… killed them in one swing. Then it ate them.
Panic erupted.
My father grabbed me and ran inside with my mother. He locked the door—then saw Adam, screaming for help as the creature devoured his parents.
I begged him not to go.
"Please, Daddy, don't—!"
"Stay inside," he said. "No matter what."
He ran to save Adam.
My mother didn't stop him. Maybe she couldn't. Perhaps she trusted him too much.
The monster bolted forward, bit Adam in half, and swung its tail.
My father flew into a wall and died instantly.
My mother locked the door. I screamed at her—"You let him die!"—but she just cried.
She wasn't choosing to abandon him. She was choosing to save me.
She carried me to the basement, shoved me inside, and slid the key under the door.
"Don't come out, no matter what you hear," she said through her tears. "This might be goodbye, my little angel."
The front door shattered.
"SOPHIA! COVER YOUR EARS AND CLOSE YOUR EYES!"
I obeyed. Even through my hands, I heard the screams. The breaking. The inhuman screeching. Then—silence.
When I finally came out, everything was destroyed. My mother was outside, curled beside my father's body, clutching a broken spear. She'd made it run away… somehow.
I was found two days later, alone among the dead. They called it an animal attack. No one believed me.
No one except Father Aldric, the priest at the orphanage. He recognized the symbols in my father's study. He taught me how to read them… and how to sense when something unnatural had stirred.
Emma wrapped her small arms around Sophia.
Sophia hugged her back, tears slipping silently down her face.
Alex sat in the corner, fists clenched.
The room was silent for a long time before he finally spoke.
"So… what is he?"
Sophia hesitated.
"He's… not like us. Not entirely. He's something old. Something sealed away in human form. But he's not evil."
Alex began pacing.
"You sure about that? You saw what he did. He tore through those monsters like they were nothing. And when he changed—those eyes—"
"That wasn't Angelo."
Olivia's voice broke softly.
"He's still our son. Your brother."
Alex turned sharply.
"He's not even your real son. He's not even human."
Olivia flinched.
James stood, voice firm.
"Alex!"
Alex looked away.
"I'm just saying what we're all thinking."
Emma hid her face against Sophia's chest, trembling.
Sophia placed a hand over Emma's head, her voice steady and cold.
"He didn't choose to be what he is. And without him… none of us would still be alive."
The words hung in the air.
No one spoke.
But the seeds of doubt had already begun to grow.