Chapter 46
It begins (4)
Time shattered.
The horror that loomed over them had broken something fundamental in Mia. She didn't blink, didn't breathe. Her body stood upright like a statue, but her soul… her soul had fallen, plummeting into memories she had spent her entire adult life burying beneath duty, orders, and the weight of survival.
Her eyes flickered with dim, broken light as her mind fell backward.
The past hit her like a freight train.
She had only been a girl—no more than sixteen, but old enough to understand the horrors of poverty. She didn't enlist for glory. She enlisted because she had no choice.
Her mother had been a prostitute. Not by desire, but necessity. And the debt collectors she owed money to weren't the kind to send polite reminders.
The floor was cracked, the air thick with cigarette smoke, her stomach empty for the third day in a row. Her mother's perfume barely covered the stench of sweat and desperation. The door slammed open. They came one night, masked and faceless, shadows with fists. Mia had watched—powerless—as her mother screamed, clawed, tried to hold onto her. Her mother's nails had dug into Mia's arm so deep they left scars. But it wasn't enough.
The men broke her mother's jaw and tore her away.
Mia screamed, tears blurring the last image of her mother's bloodied face vanishing into the night.
Then her father, for once sober, lunged forward. He got one punch in—just one—before a knife went in, twisting slowly. His blood sprayed across Mia's face like a blessing from a cruel god.
She didn't remember much after that.
Only the warmth of blood.
Mia collapsed onto the cold ground, soaked in her father's blood. A child in a nightmare she could never wake from. Alone, traumatized, and claw-marked by grief.
The jagged breath of her dying father. The way her mother's broken face mouthed "I'm sorry" over and over.
The alley became her home. Trash became her blanket. The world moved on.
She wandered. Waiting to be picked up. Waiting to be discarded.
She should have ended up in Hope's End.
The place her mother had crawled out of—only for Mia to return like a curse.
But fate—cruel, sharp-edged fate—showed her a poster.
"Join the War Effort. Reclaim Your Future."
She had begged, sobbed, screamed—until an enforcer, more irritated than compassionate, scribbled her name on a list and pushed her toward the war effort.
That was the start of her life as a soldier.
She formed her first avien in twelve days. A record. Not out of talent—but out of desperation. She wasn't trying to rise. She was trying to survive.
Within four months, she was part of a team of fifteen. Veterans and novices alike. There were two Masters, five Experienced Ascenders, and eight novices—including her. They became her shelter. A broken girl rebuilt in the hands of camaraderie. For the first time, she laughed. Trusted. Felt safe.
Then came the mission that shattered it all.
They were meant to clear a horde of Deadline creatures. Standard extermination. But what met them wasn't standard.
It was a Devil.
And surrounding it—devilborns.
Their screams never left Mia's ears.
She remembered the Devil.
It resembled a bull—if a bull had been mangled in a massacre and stitched together by a mad god. Muscles pulsed beneath skin stretched too tight, and its eyes were replaced with gaping sockets from which nine grotesque horns burst outward like a crown of agony. The horns bled constantly, the red never ceasing, gushing endlessly as it charged.
One blink—three were dead.
Another—two more down.
And every corpse left behind was punctured with nine perfect holes…
The air was filled with bone cracks and wet splatter.
From those holes, white flowers sprouted. The petals shimmered with ethereal beauty, too perfect for the carnage that surrounded them. Like peace blooming in the heart of hell.
Later, Mia had stared at the corpses. Her hands were still trembling, but it wasn't fear anymore. It was rage. An all-consuming fury that overrode everything else.
She spent years fighting after that. Killed. Survived. Reached Three-Star status. They offered her the chance to push further—to become a Master. But she had refused.
Because she was afraid.
She told herself it was a strategic decision. That she had other priorities. But deep down, she knew the truth.
Not because she couldn't grow stronger, but because growth meant understanding.
Understanding meant facing them again.
And she swore—swore—she would never, ever see another Devil in her life.
She had earned that peace.
They were supposed to be gone.
The Hold was safe.
Ten miles of safety.
Ten miles guaranteed.
Because understanding meant remembering. And remembering brought her back to those white flowers blooming from the holes of her dead comrades.
She had buried her trauma in missions. In years. In the illusion that her strength would keep the past at bay.
And it had worked.
Until now.
She had helped purge them, pushed the Deadline creatures far from society. With the Masters' efforts, they had secured at least ten miles around the Hold. This wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible.
So why…
WHY.
WHY was it here?
WHYwhywhywhywhywasthishappening.
She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't fight.
Broken sobs and choked gasps escaped her as she clutched her head. She, the veteran of twenty years, the weathered soldier of countless battles.
As she whimpered. Her knees trembled. Her eyes didn't see the cave—they saw the ghosts of her friends, torn in half. They saw white flowers blooming from corpses.
She collapsed, folding in on herself.
A child again.
Not a 20-year veteran.
Not a 3-star Ascender.
Just a girl. Just Mia.
Lost and helpless.
IAM watched her with wide eyes, his mind buzzing. Sparks danced behind his vision. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
And then he remembered.
Milo's voice echoed in his mind like prophecy.
"Now, we are going to see what qualifies a Deadline creature as a DEVIL. It is not about raw power but the potential deadliness of the powers of the Deadline creature, for example."
Milo gestured, and a glowing screen appeared with a blurry photo of the malformed thing.
"This creature is very special. It prefers dark spaces, which are warm. It hangs on a ceiling and once it stays on the ceiling it does not move there till the end of its life.
Due to this information, it does not sound that dangerous. It has close to no fighting power and is a still target—a long-range Ascender's dream. But the reason why it was given the title Devil is because of this black liquid it pumps out… It's alive. It spits it out and it attaches itself to the target and that target is now under its control. The target is then used to kill and do its bidding. The controlled target brings the food to the Devil and it eats it.
Now imagine facing it in a group. At first, you think you have it outnumbered. But then it takes over your teammates—strong or weak—and you must fight while avoiding the black liquid.
Imagine one of these was in a city or village… overrun by this Devil…"
He looked over the classroom gravely.
"My only advice when you see such a creature… Run. Run as fast as possible."
IAM blinked and snapped back to the present.
The sound of Mia's shaking breath. The frozen stares of his teammates. The sour taste of regret in the back of his throat.
His eyes slowly drifted toward the center of the cave.
There… just beneath the mass of writhing flesh and spinning teeth… that pool of black liquid that was forming. Thick. Glutinous. It dripped slowly—he could see it stretch.
It didn't look alive.
It looked like it was going to fall.
Any moment now.
Drip.
IAM's hand moved to his holster, breath shallow.
Drip.
His body screamed to run. But his legs were stuck.
And then—slurp.
A wet, revolting suction as the Devil slurped the black liquid back into itself.
IAM tilted his head in confused horror. "Wha—?"
A heartbeat passed.
Then—
It struck.
The Devil spat the liquid like a cannon.
Faster than sound.
It hurtled toward them.
IAM saw it, but his body wouldn't move. Every nerve screamed.
Time cracked again.