'That isn't right, surely it's not.'
Lucian repeatedly spoke to himself as he read through the ridiculous words before him. He tried to find ways to interpret the words so they made sense, but he kept finding it absurd. What did it mean that he had been noticed by a demon, and even more terrifying, that he was being tracked? For what reason?
'Could this have something to do with the demonic core?'
As Lucian was deep in thought, he felt a shove on his shoulder that made him jolt in panic before seeing the face of the scarred priest, who looked more furious than scared.
"What the hell are you doing, trying to get us killed?"
Lucian looked at the man, then glanced back at the rune he was now certain only he could see.
"No… I… uh…"
The man gripped Lucian's shoulder tightly, his eyes narrowing as he pulled the boy closer.
"Listen, this is not the time to falter. A mistake from any one of us could mark the doom of all. I need you to get it together. Do you understand me?"
Lucian locked gazes with the man as he nodded his head promptly.
"Yes, I understand," he gave a simple response, deciding against telling them what he had seen.
The scarred man sighed, releasing the boy's shoulder and turned around, dashing back to the rest of the priests as Lucian followed closely behind.
He was still haunted by the words he had read, even though he was uncertain of what they entailed. Although it seemed a straightforward statement, Lucian could not bring himself to believe he was currently being tracked personally by a demon; that was too terrifying a thought.
As for sharing such information with the men, that would only make him a liability to them rather than an asset. The moment they believed he put their lives in danger rather than protecting them, they would immediately cut him off from their plan, and that would lead to him being stuck in this city.
Making his decision, Lucian followed the men silently, doing his best to dismiss the message he saw on the rune. After all, there was nothing he could do about it. If a demon did indeed show up, he would simply fight it and hope he survived. He had no other choice than that.
The group of five moved through the streets of the Rise. The sound of calamity like gongs of war rang through the city of black and red, screams that pleaded for mercy and death crept so far across the Rise they sometimes reached their ears, and the roar of blasters used by the NPF sounded like a resilient drum of a defiant will to survive.
It was clear that they fought back against the hellgate, and although they could only hear the chaos and not see it, to them, it was still clear they would lose. If there was a military force that could resist demons, the NPF was laughably far from being one.
Finally, they reached a skyscraper mirroring each and every one around them. The scarred man walked over to the dark sealed door of the building and pulled out a card.
He swiped the card near the door. In response, two green lights blinked, and the door slid open with a mechanical hiss. The men hurried inside.
The lobby loomed like a cavernous void, a black hole pierced by a single, blinding column of neon light. The light cut down from the skyscraper's zenith, slicing through the darkness like a celestial sword. Its harsh, unforgiving white cast long, distorted shadows and illuminated particles of dust that drifted in eerie, slow motion.
The walls were slick, dark mirrors, reflecting the stark, angular geometry of the space. There was no warmth here—no softness—just an oppressive cold that seemed to seep into the bones. A low hum from unseen machinery permeated the silence, a constant, mechanical whisper. Sleek, black desks floated like dark islands in the vast, inky sea of the lobby.
In its bleak minimalism, human life felt fragile—an accidental intrusion into something sterile and soulless. Yet even in its lifelessness, it was a luxury far beyond what any of them had ever known.
The thought of people living in such comfort while they were condemned to crumbling buildings and cold streets angered them. But it didn't matter. Soon, they would escape it all.
They moved quickly through the empty lobby, past displays of luxury vehicles, and into a nearby elevator. The scarred priest punched in a code on the panel, and the elevator began to descend. It traveled deep underground before finally stopping and opening.
There, under the stark glare of light, sat their key to escape.
It was a vehicle—a hulking, intimidating war machine, its sleek, obsidian shell marred by the scars of countless battles. A menacing fusion of steel and shadow, it exuded an aura of cold, calculated lethality.
Twin plasma cannons, embedded within its armored hull, pulsed with an ominous blue glow, ready to unleash a torrent of destructive energy. The Behemoth was a symbol of power, a harbinger of doom, a relentless force that crushed everything in its path.
And most importantly, it was their only way out.
"Get in," the scarred priest commanded.
At that moment, another rune flashed before Lucian's eyes.
[The demon imp is in close vicinity.]