From the moment Angelo was stabbed to the time he was dragged before Vaelgor and Serika—the Horned Figure and the Shackled Girl—his body remained unconscious. But within, his soul had awakened.
He sat upon his throne in the hollow silence of his mind. The void stretched beneath him, shifting and endless. When it began to bubble at his feet, Angelo instinctively lifted his legs, retreating from the rising darkness.
Something was coming.
From the bubbling abyss, a shape began to emerge—a human silhouette, featureless at first, then slowly coalescing into a man. A presence Angelo had felt before. His chest tightened.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
The figure opened its mouth, pointing directly at him. A thousand voices answered at once, overlapping in a haunting chorus:
"I want you to break. I want to be in control."
The same voices that had haunted his mind since the day he saw his family at the military base.
"You can't be in control," Angelo snapped. "I need to go back. That horned bastard is suppressing my power—I need to get revenge. For Hale. For Ryan."
The void-being laughed. A sound both hollow and booming. Then it said:
"He is not the one suppressing your powers. I am."
Angelo's rage ignited. He nearly lunged forward—but stopped just before his feet could touch the void. He remembered the warning: never touch it.
Teeth gritted, he hissed, "Why are you doing this?"
"To break you," the voices replied.
The throne shattered. Angelo's vision spun.
He returned to his body.
Slowly, his eyes opened.
Shadows danced before his blurred vision. He blinked until shapes took form: a throne carved of blackened bone… and seated upon it, the one from his nightmares.
Vaelgor.
Beside him stood the girl in chains—unchanged since that day long ago.
They were the same beings he saw at fifteen, when the veil had torn and the world briefly tasted madness.
Dozens of creatures stood in the room, watching him in silence.
The Horned Figure tilted his head, amused. "So you've awakened?" he said, his voice deep and smooth like molten tar. "Let me formally introduce myself. I am Vaelgor, the Burning Curse."
He gestured to the girl beside him.
"And this is my daughter, Serika, the Silent Binder. You saw us once… when we peeked through the veil all those years ago."
Angelo tried to move—tried to summon his power—but pain shot through his limbs. He looked down.
Chains. Tight around his wrists and ankles.
Rage boiled in his throat. "You killed my friends," he spat. "I'll kill every single one of you."
He struggled against the chains.
Serika's voice cut through the room. "It's futile. My chains don't just bind your body. They seal your power."
Angelo looked her up and down and sneered. "Still wearing that same bloody dress, I see. Your father must be poor. Let me out of these bonds—I'll buy you something new."
Her face twisted in fury.
With a flick of her fingers, the chains tightened. Bone cracked. Angelo screamed.
"Enough," Vaelgor said mildly, holding up a hand. "We don't want him broken… not yet. Not before his family arrives."
The creatures chuckled, some even licking their lips.
Angelo's bloodied eyes flared. "You lay a single finger on them, and I'll rip you and your daughter apart."
Laughter filled the throne room.
"We shall see," Vaelgor replied.
Outside, the rescue team arrived.
They stood before a small castle-like structure that hadn't been there before. Twisted architecture. Wrong angles. The air reeked of something unnatural—something not meant to exist in this world.
Bastion, their armored transport, rested just beyond the treeline—partially veiled by broken branches and a fine layer of ash. They had left it behind without a second thought, its engines cooling in the quiet. No one stayed to guard it.
Eleven soldiers approached cautiously, weapons raised. The place was silent—too silent.
But they were being watched.
From the shadows, the Duskbornes stirred—silent phantoms moving like ink through water. Hidden from the naked eye, they slithered through the dark and passed the word back to their masters.
Vaelgor received the message with a low chuckle. "It seems we have… guests."
He looked at Angelo. "Let's welcome them properly."
Then, to the shadows, he commanded:
"Bring them here. Alive… if possible."
Inside the darkened halls of the castle, the rescue team advanced. Flashlights swept across stone walls smeared with something like tar. No sound, no movement. Until—
The Duskbornes struck.
From walls, ceilings, and floors, they emerged. Gunfire erupted as the soldiers tried to hold them off, but it was no use. The bullets did nothing. Shadows bled but did not die.
One by one, they fell:
Major Elias Vorn fought to his last breath, a knife through his chest.
Sergeant Mira Lockwood screamed as she was dragged into the dark.
Private Alina Vos, Lieutenant Kellan Reeve, Sergeant Bennett Shaw, Warrant Officer Theo Marn, Corporal Rafe Dorian, and PFC Ezra Cole—all were slaughtered in minutes.
Only three survived, wounded and cornered:
Colonel Darius Pierce, blood-soaked and defiant.
Specialist Nadia Faye, breathing hard, leg shattered.
Staff Sergeant Jonah Keene, bleeding from the side.
The Duskbornes encircled them, whispering in forgotten tongues. The fight was over.
They were taken.
And far behind them, Bastion sat untouched—its metal hull silent beneath the falling ash, as if holding its breath.