Michael did not fall immediately.
For half a second after Mary's hand drove into his chest, his breath exploded from his lungs in a sharp, broken sound. She was still half in his arms, her weight pressed against him like she didn't realize what she'd done.
"Michael!" Cynthia screamed.
Victor moved before the sound fully left her mouth.
He caught Michael as his knees came down, one arm locking around his back, the other pressing hard against the wound to stop the bleeding. Michael gasped, eyes wide, staring not at Victor—but at Mary.
"She didn't mean—" he tried to say.
Mary tore herself free trying to resist the demon.
Her movements were no longer human. Too sharp and too fast. Her head snapped side to side as if listening to something only she could hear. Her mouth twisted into a grin that pulled painfully at her cheeks, the demon was fighting back to take possession of the body. She let out a loud scream holding her head.
She looked at Micheal with tears in her eyes, "what have I done, oh no no no." she tried coming close but the demon took control over her once again.
"Oh, she meant it," the voice inside her purred with a smile. "Just not for him."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Cynthia," he said calmly, though his hands were slick with blood. "Stay with Michael, keep applying pressure to his chest and don't let him close his eyes."
She immediately dropped to her knees, pressing her hands over Victor's, tears streaming. "Michael, look at me. Please. Stay with me."
Victor pulls out his hand slowly giving Cynthia more room to apply pressure to Micheal's chest.
Michael coughed with a weak smile on his lips. "please help her," he whispered as his eyes were closing slowly.
"Don't you dare," she sobbed. She quickly tapped his cheeks to get him to stay awake.
Victor rose and stepped between Mary and the others.
"You want me?" he said. His voice didn't shake. "Then stop hiding behind her and come at me." He shouted.
Mary tilted her head.
Her eyes were no longer hers, they glowed faintly, like oil catching fire. "You always step forward," the demon said fondly. "Even when it will cost you everything."
"Get out of her," Victor snapped.
The thing laughed.
Then Mary screamed.
Not in terror—
in rage.
Her body convulsed violently. Black veins crawled along her neck, then receded. The demon was struggling to hold her.
Michael groaned.
Cynthia cried out. "Victor, he's fading!"
Victor looked back once.
That was all it took.
Mary lunged.
Climbing the car and disappearing into the night.
"We have to move," Victor said. "Now."
They couldn't go back into the hospital because of the sudden blackout and patients being transferred to other hospitals… It's empty now, enough for the demon to linger around and use them.
So Victor made a choice.
"Get him in the car," he ordered. "We leave."
Cynthia hesitated only for a second—then nodded.
They dragged Michael into the back seat, Cynthia climbing in with him, pressing her jacket against the wound. Victor slid into the driver's seat and started the car.
Mary stood in front of the headlights.
For a moment—just one—she looked like herself again.
Her eyes softened. Tears streamed down her face. "Victor," she whispered. "Please don't let it—"
The demon surged.
Her face twisted, bones shifting beneath skin. "Go," it snarled. "Run. I'll find you."
Victor slammed the accelerator.
The car tore out of the parking lot, tires screaming.
Behind them, the thing laughed.
They didn't drive far.
Michael was losing blood very fast.
Victor pulled into an abandoned service road near the outskirts of town—a stretch of land swallowed by trees and forgotten buildings. He couldn't go far because he was already losing too much blood. He quickly left the driver's seat and attended to him.
The car shuddered to a stop beneath a flickering streetlight that hadn't worked properly in years.
Cynthia was crying openly now, hands shaking as she pressed harder against Michael's chest.
"I'm here," she kept saying. "I'm here."
Victor ripped open the satchel Father Lucas had given them, hands moving fast. The oil vial Michael had used was gone—but not all of it.
Victor soaked a cloth in what remained and squeezed it around the wound.
Michael screamed.
The oil burned, like something tearing through layers that didn't belong.
Black smoke hissed from Michael's chest.
Victor muttered a prayer through clenched teeth, words he barely remembered but believed with everything he had left.
The smoke thinned.
Michael gasped before taking in a Sharp breath.
Cynthia collapsed forward, sobbing against him.
"He's alive," she whispered. "He's alive."
Victor exhaled slowly.
But relief didn't come.
Because the book was no longer in the car.
It was in Victor's mind.
A man kneeling in bloodlight, whispering apologies as he sealed something into pages made of skin and ash.
Victor staggered back.
Cynthia looked up. "Victor?"
"The book," he said hoarsely. "It's showing me things."
Long before them.
There had been another.
A man named Elias Crowe.
He was a scholar, a lover and a coward.
He had loved a woman deeply—and lost her to sickness that no medicine or prayer could heal the woman. In his grief, he searched beyond scripture, beyond faith, beyond sanity. He did research and found an occultic book from ancient times.
And something answered.
The demon did not offer resurrection.
It offered exchange.
Love for love.
Witness for witness.
A book to remember.
Elias bound it—using his own blood, his own vows, his own damnation. When the book was complete, he left it where curiosity would find it. That was when Victor found it and picked it up.
The demon did not want solitude.
It wanted choice.
Victor dropped to one knee.
"It's not hunting randomly," he whispered. "It's recreating a forbidden and forgotten ritual."
Cynthia's looking stunned. "You mean—"
"It needs us," Victor said. "Our love. Our fear. Our decisions."
A sound interrupted them.
A wet, slapping sound.
From the trees.
Something massive moved between the shadows.
A woman emerged, she was walking slowly.
Huge.
Her body was swollen beyond proportion, she had an uncontrollable smile on her face, it was stretched wide, cheeks sagging, her eyes were so small and barely opened, saliva dripping from her mouth endlessly.
People were walking nearby.
None of them saw her.
She was crossing the road and was coming over to where they were when a man passed too close and was instantly pulled into her body, his shape rippling beneath her skin, he let out a groan before disappearing completely.
Cynthia screamed.
Victor stepped forward.
"Stay behind me," he said.
The thing let out a deep humming wet sound.
"Love feeds me," it gurgled. "Fear seasons it."
Victor didn't move.
He reached back without looking.
Cynthia's hand found his.
They locked fingers standing strong.
The book, miles away, turned another page.
The woman jumped forward with force.
Victor raised the cross.
And shouted—Not in fear, but in fury. "BE GONE IN THE NAME OF JESUS!!."
The light exploded outward. There was a sudden strong wind immediately after the name was called.
The woman screamed as her body split open, shadows tearing free—but she didn't die.
She retreated into the dark, crawling.
"Soon," she promised. "Soon one of you will join her."
Silence fell.
Victor stood shaking—but unbroken.
Cynthia pressed her forehead to his back.
"I trust you," she whispered.
He turned, cupping her face gently despite the blood, the horror, the night pressing in.
"I won't let it take you," he said. "I swear it."
Somewhere far away—Mary let out a loud scream.
And the book wrote its next line.
"THE LEADER BLEEDS LAST."
The wind died.
The scream echoed again.
Closer this time.
Victor turned slowly, scanning the trees. The night felt longer like it would never end. Even the insects had gone silent. After the scream came the second time, there was a complete silence for the next few seconds.
Cynthia tightened her grip on his hand. "You heard that too right? It sounded exactly like Mary's voice."
Victor nodded once. "She's drawing it out," he said. "Or it's drawing her back, we have to do something right now."
Behind them, Michael stirred weakly in the back seat, his breath was shallow but steady. A low groan escaped his lips, enough to remind Victor that time was bleeding away with every second they stood still.
Then the streetlight above them flickered.
Once.
Twice.
And went out.
Darkness swallowed the entire road.
From the trees came movement—not fast and not slow, just steady movement like something was coming close. Branches bent inward as if something was parting them from the inside.
A shape shifted just beyond the treeline.
Too large to be a person.
Too wrong to be an animal.
Cynthia's voice dropped to a whisper. "Victor… what is that?"
"I don't know but we have to leave this place immediately," he replied.
They got in the car and tried starting it up but it didn't respond no matter how many times they tried it.
A low, layered voice rolled through the darkness, not coming from one direction but from everywhere at once.
"Four witnesses," it said calmly. "One love already cracked. One heart leaking. One leader standing."
Victor lifted the cross, his arm trembling but his stance firm.
"You won't touch them," he said. "Not tonight."
The voice laughed softly.
"Oh, Victor… I already have."
The trees parted.
Something stepped forward.
Not fully into the light.
Not yet.
Cynthia held her mouth in shock.
Victor felt the mark on his wrist split open.
And somewhere behind them, inside the car—
Michael gasped sharply.
Cynthia spun around.
"Michael?"
His eyes were open now.
Too open.
And staring straight at Victor.