(POV Shift: Third Person)
The basement of the Perron farmhouse, which for a generation had been a crypt of terror and cold, was now silent. The scene that Ed Warren and Father Gordon found was not that of an ongoing spiritual battle, but its aftermath. It was like arriving at a battlefield after the last bomb had fallen. The air, now clean of the smell of the grave, smelled of ozone, gunpowder, and the strange earthy fragrance of salt. Debris of broken wood, twisted pipes, and shattered glass littered the floor. In the center of it all, a young man who shouldn't have been there, dressed in strange clothes and holding a weapon that shouldn't exist.
Father Gordon, a man whose faith had been forged in decades of doctrine and ritual, paused at the top of the stairs, his exorcism book suddenly feeling inadequate, obsolete. His mind struggled to categorize what he saw. He saw the Perron family, whom he knew from the parish, huddled but visibly relieved, the tears in their eyes those of gratitude, not terror. He saw Lorraine, his colleague in the invisible war, pale but intact. And he saw the boy. The epicenter.
"Ed..." the priest began, his voice barely a whisper. "What happened here? Where is the entity?"
Ed Warren couldn't take his eyes off Alex. He saw the smoking pistol, the young man's stance, a mixture of exhaustion and fierce pride. He saw the Polaroid on the floor, near the boy's feet. He had returned to wage a war, but the war already had a victor.
"I believe, Father," Ed said slowly, his voice filled with an awe he couldn't conceal, "that we've just arrived late."
Alex heard Ed's words, and a smirk of pure self-satisfaction spread across his face. He raised the pistol, not to threaten, but in a gesture of presentation, like an artist displaying his masterpiece. Then, with deliberate unhurriedness, he ejected the empty magazine, which fell to the floor with a metallic clink. The battle was over. The curtain had fallen. And he was the show's only star.
(POV Shift: First Person)
The feeling was indescribable. It was better than beating any final boss, better than any "Victory Royale." It was absolute validation. I had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had not only looked back but I had shot it in the face. And I had won.
I saw the faces of Ed and the elderly priest. Their jaws were dropped. Confusion, awe, disbelief... it was music to my ears. They had arrived with their books and their crosses, ready for a long, tedious siege, only to find the castle already conquered.
The chat on my HUD was my victory chorus. It had become completely illegible, a river of crown emoticons, trophies, and the word "HERO" repeated endlessly. Donations kept pouring in, not for a goal, but as offerings.
xX_GamerGod_Xx has donated $50.00: BEST STREAM EVER!!! NO ONE WILL EVER TOP THIS!!! Esceptico_Total has donated $20.00: The annihilation of a spectral entity through the application of consecrated kinetic force... The data is... conclusive. Congratulations, study subject. TacoDestroyer has donated $15.00: GG, ZERO, GG!!!
I started up the stairs, limping visibly now that the adrenaline was fading, but making sure it looked like the limp of a wounded warrior, not a scared kid. I walked past Father Gordon.
"Late to the party, Father," I told him with a mocking nod. "Already put out the candles and ate the cake. But thanks for coming."
The priest could only stare at me, speechless. I felt like a god. Or, at least, the undisputed protagonist. And as a protagonist, I felt like I had earned a reward. My eyes sought Lorraine.
She stood by the kitchen table, watching me with a mixture of relief, fear, and an awe that I, in my delirium of grandeur, completely misinterpreted. I saw in her eyes the reflection of the battle we had fought. She had understood me, in her own way. She had felt my power, she had witnessed my victory. In my twisted, euphoric mind, we had formed a bond that transcended her marriage to Ed. We were the two who had truly been on the front lines.
Ed was beside her, an expression of profound relief and gratitude on his face. He put a hand on his wife's shoulder, drawing her closer to him. And that gesture, that simple possessive gesture, ignited a spark of irrational arrogance in me. I wanted to show everyone—Ed, the priest, the world, the thousands of viewers—who was truly in charge. Who the hero was here.
(POV Shift: Third Person)
Alex ascended the last step and entered the kitchen. The aura of victory surrounding him was so palpable it almost had a physical presence. He ignored Roger and Carolyn, who tried to thank him with tears in their eyes. He walked past Ed, giving him a smile that was both a greeting and a challenge. He stopped directly in front of Lorraine.
"We did it," Alex said, his voice soft, but charged with a possessive intensity. "We did it."
Lorraine looked at him, confused by his tone. She saw the strange light in his eyes and began to feel a new kind of alarm. "Alex, all of us..."
But he didn't let her finish. In an act of monumental arrogance, a move fueled by adrenaline, trauma, and the feeling of being the protagonist of an action movie, Alex leaned forward. He placed his free hand on Lorraine's shoulder, pulled her towards him, and kissed her.
It was a brief, clumsy, and brutally misplaced kiss. An act of conquest, not affection.
Time in the kitchen froze.
Alex's camera-hand, always recording, captured every detail in merciless high definition. It captured the absolute shock on Lorraine's face, her eyes widening before her hands came up to forcefully push him away. It captured the Perron girls, who clapped their hands over their mouths. It captured Father Gordon, whose face shifted from confusion to scandalized disapproval.
And, above all, it captured Ed Warren's face.
The gratitude and relief on Ed's face shattered, replaced by a sheet of ice. His gaze hardened, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. Initial surprise gave way to a cold, deep fury, a betrayed pain that was more terrifying than any overt rage. He didn't say a word. He didn't move. He simply stared at Alex, and in that gaze, the young man ceased to be an ally or an enigma and became an enemy.
Alex, feeling Lorraine's push, recoiled a step, the smile still on his face, though it now felt a little forced. He didn't understand the reaction. In movies, the hero always kissed the girl after the battle. Why was this different?
And then, the system gave him the answer.
(POV Shift: Second Person, then First Person)
The world stops. The smile freezes on your face. The sound of the kitchen vanishes, replaced by the familiar hum of your divine jailer. This time, however, the voice isn't cold or indifferent. It's charged with a thunderous contempt that vibrates every last molecule of your being.
DOUBT IS A FLAW. ARROGANCE IS A SIN. YOU HAVE CONFUSED YOUR TOOL WITH YOUR RIGHT. YOU HAVE CONFUSED SURVIVAL WITH CONQUEST.
You feel the tug. It's a thousand times more violent than before. It's not a tug; it's a tear. You feel as if your soul is being ripped from your body not through a cable, but through a cheese grater. The pain is unbearable.
THE LESSON HAS NOT BEEN LEARNED.
The world dissolves in a whirlwind of colors and pain. But before darkness consumes you completely, you have one last instant of clarity. Your gaze locks with theirs. You don't see the NPCs of a game. You see Carolyn's horrified face. You see Lorraine's confusion and fear. And you see Ed Warren's eyes. You see his broken heart, his shattered trust, his righteous anger. You see the real, human damage you've caused with your stupid, selfish act of "heroism."
Victory tastes like ash in your mouth. The pistol in your hand feels like useless lead. The chat, the viewers, the glory... none of it matters in the face of the genuine pain you see on Ed's face.
A NEW LESSON WILL BEGIN.
And as darkness swallowed me, as the universe tore itself apart around me to pull me into the next nightmare, only one coherent thought managed to form in my shattered mind.
The idiot. He screwed up. And expensive.