The dealer still lay groaning in the gutter when Marc froze.
Something pierced the night. A voice—not just sound, but anguish, raw and desperate—echoed through the alleys. A plea for mercy.
Marc turned his head, instincts on edge. His hood glowed faintly as he shoved the dealer aside and sprinted toward the cry. The night bent around him as he leapt from wall to wall, rooftop to rooftop, moving with impossible speed.
Then he saw it.
In the pale wash of a streetlamp stood a man—or something that had once been a man. His skin was grey, pulled tight against bone. His eyes were hollow, glowing faintly as if lit from within. Metal protruded grotesquely from his flesh, some kind of weapon fused into his arm—a jagged blade, half-rusted, yet alive with unholy energy.
The creature staggered forward, swiping madly at a group of terrified civilians. Blood already darkened the pavement, the bodies of two men sprawled nearby.
Marc whispered under his breath.
Moonveil: "What the fuck… is that?"
The answer came heavy, grave.
Tecciztecatl: "It is no man. That is a Tzitzimimeh demon."
Moonveil: "You mean—like a demon from hell? Satan's minions?"
Tecciztecatl: "Not Satan. Older. Darker. Henchmen of the abyss. If one has come through, it means a sacrifice was made. Somewhere, a door has been opened."
Marc's blood chilled.
Moonveil: "Door? Sacrifice? You're telling me there are more of these things?"
Tecciztecatl: "Enough questions. Lives hang in the balance. Champion, use what I have given you. My power is not for hesitation—only action."
Marc clenched his jaw, feeling the crescent on his chest burn with light. He grabbed a loose stone from the pavement and hurled it. It cracked against the demon's skull.
Moonveil: "Oi, fuck-face! Over here!"
The Tzitzimimeh snapped its head around with an inhuman snarl, its jagged weapon-arm dragging sparks against the street. It lumbered toward him, faster with every step.
Marc didn't back down. He dropped into a fighting stance, his training taking over. Years in the S.A.S. had taught him how to dismantle men twice his size. He dodged the first swipe, slammed his fist into the creature's ribs, then followed with a sharp kick that sent it staggering.
The demon roared, its voice a hollow shriek that made windows shiver.
Marc pressed forward—punch, elbow, knee, strike. His movements were fluid, disciplined, sharpened by combat drills etched into muscle memory. For a moment, he had the upper hand. The demon reeled beneath his blows.
But then it adapted.
Its swings became tighter, faster. Each missed strike corrected itself. Its eyes seemed to read him, learning his rhythm, mirroring his tactics. Blow for blow, it began to match him.
Marc ducked a slash, panting, sweat burning his eyes.
Moonveil: "Bloody hell. You're a big fat fuck, you know that?"
The creature snarled in answer, swinging again. Marc caught its arm, twisted, slammed it into a wall. Bricks cracked under the force, dust falling like rain.
Then—sirens.
Red and blue lights bled across the street. Engines roared, tires screeched, and in seconds, a squad of armed police surrounded the scene.
Marc's stomach dropped.
Moonveil: "Fuck. Of course they'd be here now."
The officers shouted, weapons raised. But they didn't aim at the demon alone.
Officer 1: "Open fire!"
Gunshots tore through the night. Bullets ripped past Marc, striking the demon—but also ricocheting near him. One grazed his arm, the sting fading instantly as Tecciztecatl's power knitted the wound closed.
Behind him, he heard the coldest words of all.
Officer 1, to his partner: "Kill him too. The vigilante nightmare. End it here."
Marc's heart pounded. He wasn't just fighting a demon. He was fighting the police as well.
The Tzitzimimeh shrieked, stumbling under the hail of bullets. But even wounded, it swung wildly, tearing through a squad car door like paper. Marc lunged, grabbing its weapon-arm, dragging it away from the officers before they were shredded.
Moonveil: "Oi! You want me? Come take me!"
The demon roared in his face, hot breath stinking of blood and rot. Marc slammed a knee into its gut, then twisted, dragging it toward an abandoned storefront. Glass shattered as they both crashed through, tumbling into darkness.
Inside, shadows closed around them. The creature swung, blade cutting through shelves, sparks flying. Marc ducked low, rolling across the ground, grabbing a length of steel pipe. He swung hard, cracking it across the demon's skull.
The Tzitzimimeh staggered—but then, horrifyingly, it grinned.
Marc froze. It's learning. Again.
Tecciztecatl: "Do not falter, Champion. Strike with more than your fists. Strike with the veil itself. Call on me."
Marc snarled, tightening his grip on the pipe.
Moonveil: "Fine. Let's finish this."
He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, letting the crescent burn hotter. Power surged through him, raw and unrelenting. His skin tingled, his senses sharpened, and his muscles screamed with unnatural strength.
The demon lunged.
Marc met it head-on, his pipe slamming into the fused weapon with a shockwave that rattled the storefront walls. The creature shrieked, the sound like glass breaking, as Marc drove forward, strike after strike, faster than any man could move.
The final blow cracked the demon's skull open. Its hollow light guttered, sputtered, then went dark. The body collapsed, the weapon fused into it clattering against the floor.
Marc stood panting, pipe clanging from his hand, chest heaving.
Outside, he heard the police regrouping.
Officer 2, muffled: "What the hell was that thing?"
Officer 1, bitter: "Doesn't matter. The vigilante's still inside. We take him down."
Marc cursed under his breath. He looked down at the demon's corpse. Already, its flesh was dissolving into ash, its weapon crumbling to dust. Nothing would remain to prove what he had fought. To the police, he'd just be a madman covered in soot and blood.
Moonveil: "Brilliant. Now I'm not just the vigilante—now I'll be the murderer too."
Tecciztecatl: "Do not fear their blindness. You were not chosen to be loved. You were chosen to be the shield against darkness. Even if they hate you, you must endure."
Marc slipped through the shadows, vanishing just as the police stormed the ruined storefront. He leapt rooftop to rooftop, blood pounding in his ears, his body aching with the aftershock of divine battle.
For the first time, he wasn't sure if he was winning anything.
He had fought men before—dealers, rapists, thugs. But this… this was something else. A demon pulled from a world he barely understood, a harbinger of worse to come.
And the police, the very people meant to protect the city, had turned their guns on him.
Marc pulled his hood tighter, staring at the crescent moon overhead.
Moonveil (to himself): "If this is just the beginning… what the hell's coming next?"
The moon offered no answer. Only silence.