I woke up to 347 unread notifications.
That was my first red flag.
The second? My phone practically overheating with the force of its own suffering. Every app was lighting up. Twitter—sorry, "X"—was on fire. TikTok had at least four different edits of me standing like a rock while a dog went feral. And the hashtags?
> #InvincibleCameraman
#DogProof
#LuckyTripod
Great. Just great.
I sat up in bed, hair sticking out in ten directions, ramen cup from last night still on the desk. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to become part of the show. My whole plan had been simple: hold the camera, get paid, stay alive. Preferably in that order.
Then Seraphina called.
"Elias, darling, rise and shine! We're viral."
Her voice dripped with glee. "Do you know what this means?"
"That I'm doomed?"
"That we're famous!" she corrected, ignoring me. "We've been clipped, memed, stitched, and cursed into the algorithm itself. This is the start of my empire. No, our empire."
I rubbed my eyes. "I didn't sign up for an empire. I signed up for part-time freelance camera duty."
"You signed up for destiny."
"No, I signed up because you offered me thirty bucks and free pizza."
She chuckled. "And now? You're worth at least thirty-five."
---
By the time we met later that day, the scale of it hit me.
We weren't just trending—we were exploding. Every second, new comments, new edits, new conspiracy threads.
One viral post read:
> "Nah bro this cameraman built like Minecraft Steve. Physics don't apply to him."
Another said:
> "I swear he's got anime protagonist plot armor."
And the worst one:
> "Hear me out… he's the REAL witch."
Seraphina strutted into the café like she owned it, sunglasses way too big for her face, cloak still trailing dramatically even though the barista gave her the stink eye.
I hunched lower into my hoodie, hoping nobody recognized me. No luck.
"Hey—aren't you the—" someone whispered.
I groaned. "Please don't."
They didn't listen. Out came the phones.
Click. Flash. Hashtag. Doom.
---
That night, Seraphina demanded another stream.
"Strike while the iron's hot!" she said, dragging me to the rooftop of a downtown building. Neon lights from the city below painted her face, and the wind whipped her cloak like we were in the middle of a music video.
"Tonight," she announced into the camera, "we attempt true invocation. Watch closely, mortals, for this will be a performance like no other."
The chat was already hyped:
> [CHAT]
"Cameraman back LET'S GOOO"
"plot armor tripod in the house"
"if he survives tonight imma donate $100"
"nah he won't just survive, he'll break the curse himself lol"
She lit candles, placed a chalk circle, and pulled out an ancient-looking grimoire that was definitely just a thrift store notebook she burned the edges of.
I steadied the camera. Same drill.
But halfway through her chanting, things got weird.
The candles flickered… against the wind. Shadows bent wrong. And the temperature? Dropped like we'd stepped into a freezer.
I shifted uneasily. "Uh, Seraphina—"
"Shh," she hissed, eyes gleaming. "It's working."
And then the rooftop door slammed open.
A gust of air hit us. The candles blew out. For a second, the circle glowed faintly red.
Chat exploded:
> [CHAT]
"THIS AIN'T FAKE BRO"
"THE EFFECTS?? OMGGG"
"nah cameraman boutta tank a demon lmao"
Something moved in the shadows near the stairwell. A figure? No. A shape. Too tall, too crooked.
It lurched toward us.
Seraphina froze. "That's… not me."
The thing snarled and lunged—straight at me.
I braced myself, too slow to dodge. But just as it reached—
The edge of the rooftop railing snapped. The creature tripped, tumbling off the side.
Gone.
Didn't touch me. Didn't scratch me. Didn't even graze my sleeve.
Chat went feral.
> [CHAT]
"HE DID IT AGAIN 💀💀💀"
"CAMERAMAN VS DEMON 1-0"
"WHO EVEN NEEDS THE WITCH???"
"I'm donating rn omg"
Seraphina's jaw dropped. "Elias. What are you?"
I swallowed hard, still holding the camera perfectly steady. "Lucky."
But this time? Even I didn't believe it.