"Forgive my insolence, my liege. However, these people are outsiders—foreign to our blood, deemed untrustworthy. They are filth! Scum!" one of the Elders spat, his voice dripping with disgust.

  "Indeed! Please reconsider, O holy one!" Another chimed in, his wrinkled hands clutching the armrests of his chair as if gripping onto his convictions for dear life.

  Angelus furrowed his brow, torn between duty and reason. His fingers curled into a fist on his throne, a storm of indecision flickering behind his eyes.

  Then—fire erupted.

  Zara stood ablaze, her fiery aura flaring like a vengeful sun, drawing every gaze in the chamber. The golden glow of her flames reflected in the horrified eyes of the Elders, illuminating their wrinkled faces with a flickering light.

  "Outsiders, this. Outsiders, that." Zara rolled her neck, a sneer curling her lips. "All we want is more info about this stupid prophecy of yours."

  "There is no need!"

  "There is only one way!"

  "Death to Aclima!"

  "Execute the harbinger!"

  The Elders' voices rose in unison, their chants turning into a violent crescendo.

  Zara’s flames flared hotter, wilder. "You little—" Her fist clenched, embers licking at her knuckles as she lunged toward one of the Elders.

  "ENOUGH!"

  Angelus’s voice boomed through the chamber, stopping Zara’s fist mere inches from its target. The Elder flinched, falling backward, caught just in time by his peers. His cheek bore the faintest burn, his singed hair filling the air with the acrid scent of scorched flesh.

  Zara scoffed. "Tch. Coward."

  Angelus rose from his throne, his presence commanding. His piercing gaze locked onto mine.

  "Zara. Mari. You shall be recruited into the Resistance."

  The room fell silent.

  The Elders gasped, their whispers slithering through the air like a swarm of restless serpents. Zara's flames flickered, an unspoken storm brewing within her. My own heart pounded, an unfamiliar weight settling in my chest.

  Angelus's voice cut through the murmurs like a knife. "Mari, your fate is intertwined with Aclima—whether by chance or design. Join the Resistance, and help shape the fate that awaits us all."

  The elders exchanged uncertain glances, caught between the weight of tradition and the urgency of change. Their silence was thick, stretching between them like an invisible wall of hesitation. Then, a seasoned voice broke through the unease.

  "The harbinger joining the Resistance? This is unprecedented."

  A ripple of discontent spread across the tent, the murmurs swelling like a rising tide. Angelus raised a hand. The chamber stilled.

  "Trust that this decision is not made lightly." His voice held an unwavering resolve. "The threads of destiny are fraying. If we do not adapt, Enoch will be born, and the world will drown in the aftermath."

  A long pause.

  The whispers shifted, turning into reluctant nods. Their acceptance was begrudging, hesitant—but it was there. They knew they had no better option.

  Angelus exhaled, shifting his gaze to Zara. "I shall now grant you what you desire—information about our prophecy."

  Zara leaned back, arms crossed, her flames dimming to embers. "Finally."

  "Adam, the Father, and Eve, the Mother, gifted these lands with technology, birthing the city of opportunities—Ventura." Angelus’s voice was steady, measured. "To govern it, they established two ruling bodies: Provenance, the unseen hand in the shadows, and Union, the na?ve puppet masquerading as authority."

  He clasped his hands together. "While Union preaches justice and peace, Provenance manipulates from the darkness, employing ruthless methods to maintain control over its people."

  A weight settled on my chest. I felt the unspoken warning laced in his words.

  Zara leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “And the prophecy? That’s got to do with Mari, doesn’t it?”

  "No," Angelus corrected. "She is merely the catalyst."

  A sharp chill raced down my spine.

  "Once Provenance seizes control of Mari, they will ensure she fulfills her role as Aclima by any means necessary. Through her union with Adam, she will give birth to a leader—a dictator—destined to take over Ventura. And once Ventura falls, the rest of the world will follow."

  Zara’s jaw clenched. “That sounds… messed up as fuck.”

  She lowered her gaze, her lips parting just slightly as if she was about to say something—but her voice came out too quiet, like a whisper lost in the wind.

  “H.r o.. Fa…r.”

  I barely caught it.

  "What was that, Zara?" Angelus asked.

  Zara snapped up, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. Please… continue.”

  Her voice wavered.

  Something was wrong.

  Angelus hesitated for a beat before pressing on. “Our elders foresaw this since the birth of our village. To prevent it, we created the Resistance, hunting Aclima before Provenance could find her. The surest way to prevent the prophecy… was to execute her ourselves.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating.

  Zara’s eyes widened—then narrowed into something unreadable.

  "Execution, huh?" Her lips curled into something between amusement and disgust. “You village people are shadier than I thought. And that’s me speaking from experience. If I wasn’t so cautious toward y’all, both of our heads would’ve been rolling on the ground by now.”

  Angelus exhaled sharply. His features, once regal and composed, creased with something deeper—regret. Shame.

  "We had no choice." His voice was softer now, like a confession. "We started as idealists—honest, true. We believed we were heroes. That we would save our people."

  A shadow passed over his face.

  "We vowed never to take a life unless absolutely necessary. But one by one, we lost our comrades. We learned the truth—heroic thinking leads to an early grave."

  His gaze lifted, dark and solemn.

  "The only way to survive in this world... is through darker methods."

  "Pfft—"

  Zara snorted—then let out a full, unabashed laugh.

  "YOU’RE SCUM LIKE US!"

  Angelus flinched.

  "All that talk about trust, about outsiders—bullshit!" Zara wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing in disbelief. "You people are just as twisted as the ones you call monsters."

  The elders shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between Angelus and Zara, their rigid certainty cracking.

  Angelus didn’t deny it. He just lowered his head, the weight of it all settling into his shoulders.

  The room crackled with silence, Zara’s grin lingering even as the flames around her dimmed. Angelus' words hung in the air, heavy, undeniable.

  "We are scum," he admitted, voice calm yet resolute. "But we did it for our people. That is what separates us from the city folk, who kill for nothing but power and money."

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The weight of it settled on Zara’s shoulders, her amusement flickering out like a dying ember. For once, she didn’t have a quick retort.

  Angelus sighed, straightening. "But I digress. We must focus on what truly matters—finding a way to stop this prophecy without the sacrifice of an innocent child."

  A heavy silence swept through the room. Zara and the elders exchanged brief nods, a rare, unspoken agreement.

  Then, Angelus turned to me.

  "Mari," his gaze sharpened. "I want you to join the Resistance and aid us in dismantling Provenance. Together, we will overthrow Adam and Eve. We will forge a better city for all—no more hunters, no more prey. No more senseless killing."

  The weight of his words pressed down on me. This wasn’t just an offer anymore. It was a call. A demand. A choice that could change everything.

  The elders’ stares bore into me. Where there had once been distrust, now there was expectation. Hope.

  I swallowed hard, my fingers twitching at my sides.

  Zara locked eyes with me. For the first time since we arrived, her cocky smirk was gone. In its place—a silent understanding. A warning.

  I looked back at Angelus, the fire in my chest burning brighter.

  "Okay…" My voice was steady. "I accept. I'll join you."

  A moment of stillness. Then, Angelus nodded.

  The tension in the air loosened, the elders murmuring amongst themselves. Their skepticism had not disappeared, but it had softened.

  "That is good to hear." Angelus' expression darkened. "But before you can fight alongside us, you must prove yourself. Tonight, you will join our warriors in a raid on the Golden Motel."

  Zara perked up, intrigued. "Raid, huh? I like the sound of that."

  "One of Provenance’s officials is staying there," Angelus continued. "Your mission is to capture and interrogate him. We need to know how much they have uncovered about Aclima’s true identity. We need to know… if they already know about you."

  A chill ran down my spine.

  Zara clapped my shoulder, grinning. "Welcome to the fun part, kid."

  The Golden Motel loomed ahead, washed in the dim glow of neon streetlights. Our group of warriors moved like shadows, slipping through the labyrinthine streets, steps light and measured. The night was thick with tension.

  At a whispered command, the warriors dispersed, taking position. Zara and I stayed toward the back, watching. Waiting.

  A small group of warriors produced strange speaker-like devices, pressing them against one of the suite’s windows. With a faint vibrational hum, the glass shattered—silently.

  No alarms. No noise. Only the faint crunch of glass beneath boots.

  The warriors moved forward, slinking through the darkened halls. Weapons drawn. Breaths held.

  Then—

  The door swung open.

  Inside, they were waiting.

  Men in black suits and sunglasses, rifles raised.

  No hesitation.

  Gunfire erupted.

  The frontline of warriors dropped instantly, collapsing before they could react. The hallway lit up with bursts of muzzle flash, the scent of gunpowder thick in the air.

  "AMBUSH!" someone roared.

  The surviving warriors scrambled for cover, retaliating with gunfire of their own.

  The narrow corridor became a warzone.

  Flashes of light, the metallic sting of bullets ricocheting, shouts and screams tearing through the air.

  Zara exhaled sharply. Then—she grinned.

  "This is getting fun!"

  Her body ignited, flames roaring to life around her. With a single burst, she lunged forward, her fist surging with fire.

  The hallway exploded in light.

  The man in black barely had time to react before Zara’s fiery punch connected with his gut, sending him crashing into the wall.

  Another raised his rifle—too slow.

  Zara was already moving.

  A flash of fire—then his body collapsed, charred beyond recognition.

  Panic clutched my throat. The world was spinning, shifting. My breathing hitched, too fast, too shallow. My hands shook.

  Desire latched onto my neck.

  A sharp pinch.

  Then—

  The fear disappeared.

  A rush of fire in my veins. Strength. Clarity. Hunger.

  I grinned.

  My right hand split apart. The cold metal of my cybernetic implant shifted, morphed—

  A scythe.

  The moment it clicked into place, I moved.

  I lunged.

  A man in black turned his gun toward me—

  Too slow.

  The scythe cut through the air—

  Through him.

  No blood. No body. Just empty space where he had been.

  His rifle clattered to the floor.

  I barely registered it.

  Another enemy.

  Move.

  Strike.

  The world blurred, my body moving too fast, too light, too powerful.

  Zara’s laughter rang out beside me, wild and reckless.

  The night had only just begun.

  The scythe arced through the air, its edge gleaming hungrily under the dim light.

  A sharp breath. A moment of weightlessness.

  Then—impact.

  The blade met flesh with ruthless precision, parting skin and bone like silk. A sharp, wet schlk echoed as the first assailant crumpled beneath me. Blood sprayed, painting the floor in grotesque arcs.

  For a second—just a fleeting second—everything paused.

  The men in black froze, stunned, their rifles trained on me, caught off guard by the sheer violence of the kill.

  Then—they fired.

  Instinct took over.

  I twisted, body flowing through the gunfire like water. A step. A pivot. A blur.

  Another target.

  I lunged.

  The scythe sank into his chest, embedding deep, hitting something solid—bone. The man choked, his breath gurgling. Not enough.

  With a feral snarl, my free hand gripped his ribs—and tore him apart.

  The wrenching rip of flesh and sinew filled the air. His agonized screams—brief, raw—cut off into silence.

  Something twisted inside me.

  The scythe was an extension of my body, cutting through them, through the world itself, erasing everything in my path. Their bullets meant nothing. Their weapons, their tactics—nothing.

  I was faster. Stronger. Hungrier.

  A manic grin stretched across my face.

  For the first time in my life, I felt alive.

  And then—silence.

  The last body fell, a lifeless husk crumbling to the floor.

  I stood there, breathing hard, blood dripping from my scythe—from me.

  The warriors had stopped fighting. They stood in stunned silence, their weapons lowered.

  And their eyes—they weren’t looking at the dead.

  They were looking at me.

  A mixture of fear. Disgust. Horror.

  My heart lurched.

  I followed their gazes. Looked around.

  Mutilated bodies. Torn limbs. Blood pooling at my feet.

  A slaughter. I did this.

  My hands shook. My breath caught.

  What… have I done?

  What… have I become?