Harry steps out of the car, waving his arms as the vehicle slows to a stop.

  His amethyst eyes narrow, pupils slitting slightly as he prepares to py the role of a stranded traveler.

  He knows that asking for help on a deserted road in the middle of the night is a gamble, but the tank is bone-dry. The chilling, predatory silence of the Virelorn forest has begun to weigh on his fraying nerves.

  The driver's side window rolls down. A young man, roughly Harry's age, with light brown hair and friendly eyes, greets them with a bright smile.

  "Any problem, dude?" he asks. His voice is cheerful, carrying an easy warmth that feels entirely out of pce in this desote stretch of road.

  "Yeah, actually, we ran out of gas," Harry replies. He keeps his head low, ensuring his glowing amethyst eyes remain tucked deep in the shadow of his hood.

  His new appearance is far too striking to risk showing to a stranger. "My... partner was in such a rush she forgot to check the tank. Can you help us?"

  The stranger's eyes move toward the driver's seat, where Rose nods shyly at him, then flick back to Harry.

  "Don't worry, dude. I refilled my tank in Brindleford and I've got a little extra for emergencies like this. You can take it," he offers.

  "Oh, thank you very much…" Harry pauses, realizing he hasn't caught the man's name.

  "My name is Samual, but you can call me Sam." He steps out of the SUV and offers a handshake. As Harry takes it, he feels a strange buzz, a subtle vibration of energy that feels nothing like the dark, heavy Ojas he recently inherited.

  "And my name is Harry."

  Sam moves to the back of his vehicle, pulls out a red pstic container, and walks over to Rose's car.

  Harry helps him tip the fuel into the tank, feeling a massive surge of relief as the liquid gurgles into the reservoir.

  The smell of gasoline is sharp and chemical, but it is a welcome scent compared to the lingering metallic tang of dried blood and pine that has been haunting Harry's nostrils.

  "You can give me your mobile number, and I will transfer the money as soon as I reach home," Harry offers.

  "There is no need for that. I'm just trying to do some good deeds, you know? Trying to secure my pce in heaven," Samual says with a polite wave of his hand.

  Helping a demon can hardly be counted toward securing a position in heaven, Harry muses internally. The irony is so thick he can almost taste it. "That's very kind of you," he says aloud.

  After filling the tank, Samual slides the container back into the rear of his SUV. As he does, Harry's gaze falls upon a long, white wooden box resting on the back seat.

  The moment his eyes nd on it, a prickle of primal warning dances across his skin. It isn't just a hunch; Harry's Incubus instincts begin to scream.

  Every fiber of his being shouts: That thing is dangerous! It feels like a cold, invisible bde is pressed against his throat just by looking at the object.

  "So, Harry, if God allows it, we will meet again." Samual closes the trunk and offers his hand one st time.

  "Hmm, ahh, yes... again, thank you for your help." Harry forces his hand to move. His palm tingles with a strange, searing heat that lingers long after Samual lets go.

  "Mention it not." With a final parting word and a cheerful wave, the young man drives off.

  Harry watches the SUV's taillights disappear into the encroaching darkness, still shaken. Nova, what was inside that box? Why did I get such a dangerous feeling from it?

  [Harry, you must be cautious. Some things are fatal for every demon. A consecrated relic was inside that box. It emits a high-frequency Ojas that is toxic to your current biological makeup.]

  Harry sighs, leaning against the warm metal of the car. It hasn't even been two days since his rebirth, and he is already crossing paths with people carrying weapons designed specifically to erase his kind.

  Samual isn't just an ordinary human. He is somewhat a hunter—or something very close to it.

  "Harry," Rose calls, her voice breaking his trance as she starts the engine. "We should get going. We need to get back to Ashmere."

  Harry climbs into the passenger seat, his mind still fixed on the white box and the sting in his palm. "Yeah. Let's get out of here."

  . . . . . .

  Virelorn Forest: Deep Night

  The moon hangs high and cold in the sky, casting long, skeletal shadows across the ravine. At the foot of the cliff, the exact spot where Harry had been pushed into the abyss, a figure stands in the dark.

  She is cd in a sleek, bck bodysuit that outlines an athletic frame. Over the suit, she wears a heavy overcoat that flutters violently in the biting wind.

  Her face is completely obscured by a mask with no eye-holes; instead, intricate silver designs pulse with a faint, rhythmic light across its surface.

  Her ptinum blonde hair shimmers like liquid silver under the moonlight. Slung across her back is a long katana with a silver tsuka (hilt).

  She stands perfectly still, looking upward toward the jagged edge of the cliff as if she can see the echoes of the past.

  In her hands, she holds a metallic detector. It is malfunctioning. The needle spins frantically to the front, jerks toward the ravine, and then points toward the deep forest in a chaotic blur.

  "Is it broken?" a young woman's voice asks from behind the mask, tinged with frustration.

  Seeing the device is useless, she stows it in a side bag.

  With an inhuman jump, she clears the height of the cliff in a single bound, nding perfectly at the top.

  Her senses are far beyond those of any mortal. She spots it quickly: a trail of dried blood leading away from the edge.

  She follows the trail with predatory grace, her movements silent. Eventually, she reaches the clearing—the site of Harry's brutal beating.

  The grass is fttened and matted with dark, dried stains. In the center of the clearing, a man is already sitting as if he had been waiting for her.

  "Yo, Emma."

  The voice is deep, carrying a zy confidence.

  The man stands. Emma is tall at 180 cm, but this man dwarfs her, standing nearly two meters tall. He wears the same style of eyeless mask.

  His hair is a vibrant, fiery red that seems to catch the moonlight like actual fme. He is bare-chested, revealing corded, ripped muscles that look carved from granite. A massive hammer-axe rests against a nearby stump.

  "Mike, what are you doing here?" Emma asks, her tone icy. "This is my allotted area. You should be ten miles east."

  "Oh, come on, Emma, don't be so cold. I already finished my sweep," Mike says, moving forward for a hug. Emma dodges him with a casual sidestep. He shrugs, used to the rejection. "So, did you find where the crack appeared?"

  "No. The Voidliner is malfunctioning," Emma says, kneeling to run gloved fingers over the bloodstains. "The energy is too chaotic. From the looks of this..."

  "Someone might have performed a sacrificial ritual to summon a demon here," Mike finishes, his voice losing its pyfulness. "The blood is human, but the resonance... It's wrong. It's too cold."

  "But if a summoning happened, where is the summoner?" Emma asks, her head tilting. "And where is the entity?"

  Before Mike can answer, a golden gem embedded in Emma's silver bracelet begins to blink. A red gem on Mike's wrist does the same.

  {Pastor William is calling back everyone. Please return to the meeting point immediately.}

  A serious male voice echoes from the devices.

  "Wanna race to the extraction point?" Mike turns to Emma, but the spot where she stood is already empty. Only a few disturbed leaves remain.

  "How long will you run from me?" Mike mutters with a grin before he too vanishes into the dark in a blur of superhuman speed.