Eli learned early that prayers didn't work.
The first time he tried, he was seven years old, kneeling on a cracked bathroom floor while cold water soaked through his jeans. The tiles were chipped, stained yellow by years of neglect, and the flickering bulb above his head buzzed like it might die at any moment. His foster father's voice thundered from the other side of the door, thick with alcohol and rage, every word slurred yet sharp enough to cut.
Eli pressed his palms together the way he had seen on television, fingers trembling, knuckles white. He didn't know the proper words. He had never been taught them. So he whispered the only thing he could think of.
Please.
The door still opened.
The memory never faded. It lived somewhere deep in his bones, resurfacing whenever he smelled cheap alcohol or heard raised voices. Pain had a way of remembering itself.
By seventeen, he had stopped praying entirely.
The alarm on his phone buzzed at 5:30 a.m., its screen spiderwebbed with cracks from being dropped too many times. Eli stared at the ceiling of his room if the narrow, airless space could be called that. Mold crawled along the corners like black veins, spreading slowly no matter how often he scrubbed it. A faint drip echoed from somewhere in the walls, steady and maddening.
He exhaled and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, bare feet touching cold concrete. The chill traveled up his spine, but he welcomed it. It reminded him he was awake.
Another day.
School. Work. Silence.
He pulled on his hoodie, the fabric worn thin at the elbows, and checked his phone. No messages. No missed calls. There never were. Eli wasn't the kind of person people checked on.
Downstairs, the television blared morning news no one watched reports of rising crime, unexplained fires, missing persons that were quickly forgotten. His foster mother sat slouched on the couch, cigarette smoke curling around her like a permanent fog. She didn't look up as he passed. She never did.
Eli grabbed a piece of stale bread from the counter. The edges were hard, but he didn't complain. Complaining meant attention, and attention meant problems. He slipped out the door before anyone could find a reason to yell.
Outside, the city was still half asleep.
Streetlights buzzed weakly, casting long shadows across cracked sidewalks. Neon signs flickered above closed shops, their colors reflected in rainwater puddles. Somewhere far away, sirens wailed too distant to matter, too common to notice.
Eli walked with his hands in his pockets, head down, hoodie pulled tight. He counted his steps without realizing it, a habit he had picked up years ago. Numbers were predictable. People weren't.
That was how he survived by being invisible.
At school, invisibility was a lie.
The building smelled like disinfectant and old books, the hallways already crowded despite the early hour. Eli kept to the edges, eyes forward, shoulders slightly hunched. He knew the routine. Move quickly. Don't make eye contact. Don't react.
"Hey, Cross."
His body tensed before his mind caught up.
He didn't turn around. He never did. Experience had taught him that looking only invited more cruelty. But the shove came anyway, slamming him into a locker. Metal rattled loudly, drawing laughter from nearby students.
"Didn't your parents want you?" someone mocked.
Another voice snorted. "Guess not."
Eli tasted blood. He straightened slowly, gathering his books from the floor, his hands steady despite the ache in his chest. He said nothing.
Words only made it worse.
The bell rang, sharp and merciless. Teachers appeared. The crowd dispersed as if nothing had happened. As if it never did.
Eli walked to class with his head down, ignoring the stares, ignoring the whispers. He focused on the sound of his shoes against the floor, the rhythm grounding him.
No angels came.
Classes blurred together. Numbers on a board. Words in a textbook. Teachers droning on about futures Eli couldn't imagine himself having. He wrote notes he would never reread, stared out windows at a sky that always seemed too far away.
Sometimes rarely he felt like he was being watched.
Not by people.
By something else.
The feeling would pass as quickly as it came, leaving behind a strange pressure in his chest, like the air had thickened for just a moment. Eli never mentioned it. He had learned long ago that talking about strange things only earned you labels and labels were dangerous.
By the time the final bell rang, his shoulders ached from tension.
Work was worse.
The convenience store sat on the corner of a poorly lit street, its flickering sign missing two letters. Eli worked the evening shift most days, stocking shelves, cleaning spills, serving customers who barely noticed him.
He liked it that way.
The store was quiet after sunset. The kind of quiet that felt heavy, unnatural. Eli was closing up, counting the register with practiced efficiency, when the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then they went out.
The hum of the refrigerator cut off abruptly, leaving behind an oppressive silence. The air grew thick dense, like breathing underwater. Eli frowned, his chest tightening for reasons he couldn't explain.
Then he smelled it.
Rot.
Not the usual garbage smell. Not spoiled food. This was deeper. Older. Like decay soaked into the walls of the world itself.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
The door creaked open.
Something stepped inside.
It wore a man's shape, tall and thin, dressed in a coat too dark to reflect light properly. But its shadow bent wrong, stretching across the floor in jagged angles, clawed and restless. Its eyes burned red, glowing faintly in the darkness, and its smile was too wide, too eager filled with teeth that didn't belong in a human mouth.
"A human," it purred, voice slick and layered, as if more than one throat spoke at once. "Alone."
Eli tried to move.
His body refused.
Fear wrapped around him like chains, pinning him in place. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, each beat echoing in his ears. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
The thing stepped closer. The smell of rot intensified.
It lunged and the world shattered.
Light exploded from Eli's chest, blinding and violent. Pain unlike anything he had ever known ripped through his veins, as if his blood had turned to fire. He screamed this time, the sound tearing from his throat as symbols burned across his skin intricate, ancient markings glowing gold before fading into nothing.
The demon recoiled, shrieking, claws scraping against the floor.
"What are you?" it screamed, terror twisting its voice.
Eli collapsed behind the counter, gasping, clutching his chest. Every nerve in his body screamed. His vision blurred.
The air split open.
Reality tore like paper.
Figures descended from nothingness, wings folded in blinding white, feathers sharp as blades. Their presence crushed the air, pressing down on him with unbearable weight. Their eyes held no mercy, no curiosity only judgment.
"Unauthorized entity eliminated," one angel said calmly.
With a gesture, light engulfed the demon.
It didn't even have time to scream.
Eli looked up, shaking violently, tears streaking his face. His ears rang. His skin burned.
"Help me," he whispered.
The angel's gaze passed over him like he was dirt. Like he was less than the demon they had just erased.
"Anomaly detected."
A blade of light formed in its hand, humming softly, vibrating with absolute finality.
"Judgment required."
The sword fell.
Eli didn't die.
The blade shattered.
Light fractured, splintering into a thousand pieces that dissolved into the air. The angels froze, their wings twitching in disbelief.
Silence consumed the world.
For the first time in Eli's life, Heaven hesitated.
Far above, beyond realms and stars, on a throne of endless light, God finally opened His eyes.
And frowned.