The aftermath of the battle was eerily silent. The alley, once alive with shouts, gunfire, and the hum of advanced weaponry, was now a graveyard of shattered concrete, broken bodies, and lingering shadows. The faint, acrid scent of burned ozone clung to the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Abraham stood in the center of it all, his chest rising and falling with steady, measured breaths. His shirt was torn, his skin streaked with grime and dark red smears, but his golden eyes glowed brighter than ever, casting faint halos in the dim light. The aura around him was palpable, a suffocating pressure that seemed to distort the air itself, making the space around him feel heavier, darker.
From the rooftop above, hidden in the deep shadows, a figure watched him. Their breath hitched, barely audible, but every instinct screamed at them to flee. They knew what they were seeing wasn't human—couldn't be.
Abraham moved, slow and deliberate, stepping over the wreckage of a shattered drone, its sleek, black frame bent at impossible angles. He knelt by one of the fallen agents, a man whose body was crumpled unnaturally, limbs twisted in ways that made the watcher feel sick.
For a moment, Abraham just looked at the corpse. Then, without a word, he reached out and pressed his hand to the man's chest.
The watcher's eyes widened as a faint, pulsating glow emanated from the contact point. It wasn't just light—it was life, or whatever was left of it, being pulled from the body. The glow traveled up Abraham's arm, disappearing into his skin, and the watcher swore they could feel the temperature drop, as though the warmth of the world itself was being siphoned away.
Abraham exhaled sharply as the glow faded, his posture straightening. The cuts on his arms knitted themselves shut, bruises fading to nothing. He flexed his fingers, testing the renewed strength coursing through him, and for a moment, the faintest smile curved his lips—not one of joy, but of satisfaction.
The watcher's stomach churned. This wasn't just power; this was something primal, something predatory. And yet, they couldn't look away.
As Abraham turned, the glow in his eyes flickered, catching on something in the shadows. The watcher froze, their breath caught in their throat. Did he see them? Was it even possible to hide from something like this?
Abraham's gaze lingered, scanning the rooftop as though sensing the watcher's presence but unable to pinpoint it. The golden glow intensified for a moment, casting long shadows across the alley. The watcher could feel their heart pounding in their ears, each beat louder than the last.
And then he spoke.
"You don't have to hide," he said, his voice calm, almost gentle—but there was an undercurrent to it, a weight that made the words feel more like a command than an invitation. "I know you're there."
The watcher clenched their fists, their body screaming to run, but their legs wouldn't move. They felt pinned by his gaze, as though the air around them had turned solid.
Abraham took a step forward, his boots crunching against the rubble. "You've seen what I can do. So tell me... what are you planning to do with that knowledge?"
The watcher's blood ran cold. It wasn't a question—it was a challenge.
When they didn't respond, Abraham tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "If you're smart, you'll forget you ever saw me." His eyes burned brighter, the glow casting eerie patterns across the alley. "Because if you don't…"
He let the words hang in the air, unfinished but heavy with implication.
Then, as though losing interest, Abraham turned away, his steps unhurried as he disappeared into the shadows. The pressure in the air lifted, leaving the watcher gasping for breath.
But even as he vanished, the watcher knew they'd never forget what they'd seen. The image of his glowing eyes, the way he'd drained the life from that body, the quiet, terrifying certainty in his voice—it was burned into their mind, a scar they'd carry forever.
They finally found the strength to move, retreating deeper into the shadows, their trembling hands clutching the edge of the rooftop. All they could think, over and over, was a single, chilling realization:
He's not human. And he's just getting started.
—
William couldn't move.
He crouched behind a half-crumbling wall, heart pounding like a jackhammer as the unmistakable sound of destruction unfolded before him. The clash of powers—raw, overwhelming, and alien—made his teeth vibrate. His mind screamed at him to run, to flee from whatever monstrous force was tearing through the remnants of the abandoned factory.
But he stayed.
Something about this creature, this man—or was it a man?—froze him in place. He couldn't tell if it was fear or some twisted form of curiosity, but William's instincts, honed over years of field observation, told him that what he was witnessing was important.
He peered through a jagged gap in the wall, careful not to make a sound. His eyes fell on the figure at the center of the chaos. The man—Abraham, if William's earlier intel was correct—stood amidst the carnage, blood splattered across his face and hands. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost ritualistic as he wiped a smear of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
Abraham's glowing golden eyes scanned the area like a predator searching for any remaining prey. The faint light they emitted was unnatural, casting sharp contrasts on his face, making the shadows that clung to him deeper, more sinister.
William swallowed hard.
Abraham reached down, grasping the limp body of a Sentinel agent by the collar. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the body sliding across the debris-strewn floor like a discarded toy. The sound of metal scraping stone echoed sharply, reverberating in William's chest.
Then Abraham tilted his head upward, his glowing eyes narrowing as if he could sense something—someone—watching him.
William ducked back instinctively, his breath catching in his throat. His hand shot to the camera hanging around his neck, fingers trembling as he fumbled to turn it off.
This was a mistake. He shouldn't have come alone.
But the agency hadn't believed him when he reported the anomalous figure from weeks ago—the one tearing through supernatural entities with surgical precision and terrifying brutality. They'd dismissed him, called his findings exaggerated. So he'd come here to prove them wrong, to gather evidence.
Now he wished he hadn't.
"You're still here," a voice said.
William's blood ran cold. He hadn't heard anyone approach, yet the voice was unmistakably close.
He turned his head slowly, fear rooting him to the spot. Abraham stood just a few feet away, his golden eyes fixed on William with an intensity that felt like a physical weight pressing against his chest.
"I could feel you watching," Abraham said, his tone disturbingly calm.
William's mouth moved, but no sound came out.
Abraham took a step closer, the crunch of broken glass beneath his boots shattering the silence. "You're not one of them," he continued, his voice low, almost conversational. "You're not a Sentinel. So who are you?"
William forced himself to speak, his voice trembling. "I—I'm no one. Just a… journalist."
Abraham's lips curled into a faint smile, but there was no warmth in it. "A journalist? That's an interesting word for someone who hides and watches like prey."
William tightened his grip on his camera, unsure whether to drop it or use it as a shield. "I'm just here to document. I—I didn't mean to interfere."
Abraham tilted his head, studying William like a scientist observing a peculiar specimen. "You're afraid of me," he said, his smile widening. "Good. You should be."
He reached out suddenly, faster than William could react. Abraham's hand grabbed the camera, yanking it from around William's neck. He examined it for a moment, the lens catching the golden light from his eyes, before crushing it in his hand like paper.
"You want a story?" Abraham said, leaning in close. "Here's your headline: 'The Monster You Shouldn't Have Followed.'"
William's breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing for a way out. But Abraham didn't strike, didn't move to harm him further. Instead, he straightened, his expression shifting into something unreadable.
"You should leave," Abraham said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Next time, I might not let you walk away."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked back into the shadows, leaving William shaking and alone.
William collapsed against the wall, his heart hammering as he clutched the ruined remains of his camera. He'd gotten no evidence, no proof—but he'd gotten something else.
The monster wasn't just a monster. It was something more.
And William knew he couldn't let this go.
William sat slumped against the cold, crumbling wall, staring at the twisted remnants of his camera. His hands trembled as he picked through the shattered plastic and bent metal, searching for any salvageable piece.
A glint caught his eye—the SD card.
It was lodged in the debris where Abraham had crushed the device. Against all odds, it looked intact. William's heart leapt, a flicker of hope piercing the oppressive weight of fear that clung to him. With shaking hands, he pried the tiny card free and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Abraham's parting words rang in his ears, the warning clear as day. "Next time, I might not let you walk away."
William didn't plan on giving Abraham a "next time." At least, that's what he told himself as he clambered to his feet, his legs weak and unsteady.
The factory felt quieter now, the oppressive energy that had filled it dissipating with Abraham's departure. But the aftermath of the battle was everywhere—shattered walls, charred metal, and blood-streaked concrete. The scent of ozone and scorched flesh lingered in the air, making William gag as he stumbled toward the exit.
As he crossed the threshold into the cool night air, he felt the full weight of what he'd witnessed crash down on him. He braced himself against a rusted steel beam, breathing deeply to calm his racing thoughts.
This was no ordinary supernatural anomaly. This wasn't something the agency could dismiss. Abraham was… something else entirely.
—
Back in his dingy apartment, William locked the door behind him, bolted it for good measure, and slid every available piece of furniture against it. Paranoia gnawed at him as he moved through the small space, double-checking windows and blinds.
Only when he was satisfied that he was alone did he sit at his cluttered desk, his laptop humming softly as it booted up.
The SD card felt heavier than it should as he placed it on the desk. His hands hovered over it, hesitating. What if the footage showed something he didn't want to see? What if Abraham could somehow sense him even through a recording?
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. But curiosity—or maybe duty—overpowered the fear. He slotted the card into the reader and waited, his fingers tapping nervously against the desk as the files loaded.
The first few clips were shaky, hastily filmed as he'd hidden behind various pieces of debris. But as he scrubbed through the footage, the raw power of what he'd captured left him speechless.
Abraham, standing amidst the chaos, his glowing eyes cutting through the darkness like lanterns of malevolent light. The way his hands moved, twisting the very air around him as he conjured impossible constructs—blades, shields, tendrils of psychic energy that lashed out like living things.
The Sentinel agents, trained and armed to the teeth, had been utterly outclassed. William replayed the moment Abraham had disarmed one of them with a flick of his wrist, the agent's weapon imploding into shards of metal that flew harmlessly past him.
And then there was the way Abraham fought—not like a soldier, but like something ancient, something predatory. Each movement was precise, brutal, and efficient, as if he'd done this a thousand times before.
The final moments of the battle sent chills down William's spine. Abraham, standing over the last agent, had paused before delivering the killing blow. It was a hesitation that suggested… something human, something conflicted. But the moment passed, and the monster returned.
The camera had caught it all.
—
William leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen with wide eyes. His earlier fear had been replaced by something more complicated: awe.
Abraham wasn't just a monster. He was a force of nature, a being that defied the very laws William thought he understood about the supernatural.
But what chilled him most wasn't the destruction, the power, or even the brutal efficiency of Abraham's actions.
It was the look in his eyes.
Those glowing golden irises weren't just inhuman—they were tired. Haunted. As if Abraham was carrying the weight of a world that William couldn't begin to comprehend.
For a moment, William felt a pang of something he hadn't expected: sympathy.
He shook his head, banishing the thought. Whatever Abraham's story was, it didn't change the fact that he was dangerous—an apex predator in a world of prey.
But it wasn't just fear driving William now. It was the need to understand. To know.
He ejected the SD card, slipped it into a protective case, and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He needed to figure out what to do next. Whether that meant taking the footage to the agency or keeping it for himself, he didn't know.
All he knew was that he wasn't done with Abraham.
And he had a feeling Abraham wasn't done with him either.