Three weeks had gone by and Wyatt had become a ghost of himself. The strong, composed leader was gone, replaced by a man driven by nothing but vengeance. He barely spoke to anyone, only barking orders, sending out other hunters, pushing for intel on every demon hideout within a hundred-mile radius. The only thing keeping him going was anger.
"Where are you going?" Billy's girlfriend, Rose asked, her voice soft but firm as she caught Wyatt loading up a duffel bag with weapons.
"Out," Wyatt growled, not bothering to look up.
Rose reached out to grab his arm, stopping him for a moment. "You need to rest. It's been weeks—"
"I can't rest," Wyatt snapped, yanking his arm free. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles under them from nights spent awake, barely eating, barely existing. "She's out there. She's out there, and I'm going to kill every last one of those demons until I find her."
"Wyatt, please," Rose's voice cracked, but he was already gone, slamming the door behind him.
In the living room, Matt sat quietly, staring blankly at the TV screen, which wasn't even on. He hadn't spoken much either, not since the search teams packed up their gear and called it quits. For him, that felt like giving up. He wasn't ready to accept it. Sometimes, they would go out with their father to raid lairs but other times they felt that there was no point.
"She's still out there, man," Sean said, his voice barely above a whisper, trying to comfort him. "She's strong. She'll survive."
Matt didn't answer. He couldn't.
And then there was Bastian.
He was a shell, drifting through the house like a ghost. His eyes were empty, his movements sluggish. The guilt was eating him alive. He'd failed. He had one job, one purpose—protect Anastasia—and he couldn't even do that.
Every night, he found himself on the roof of the Drake Hotel, bottle in hand, staring out into the city, as if somehow, she'd just appear. But she never did. The bond between them had been severed, ripped apart by whatever force had taken her. He couldn't feel her anymore. There was nothing.
One night, Billy had enough of everyone's moping especially Bastian and found him there again. Same spot. Same broken angel.
"Not gonna lie," Billy said, kicking a pebble off the roof's ledge. "This is getting a little pathetic. You sitting up here, drowning yourself in whiskey like you're human."
"Fuck off!" Bastian snapped.
"Such foul language for an angel. Where did all the holier than thou, serene traits go?" Billy mocked.
"They vanished like the woman I loved."
"Listen, Wyatt is becoming an exhausted shell and he's going to get killed if he keeps this up, Matt and Sean should be training but without their father to push them out of this slump, they barely do much and it's getting to Rose and myself. I need help." Billy pleaded. "You need to keep fighting because that's what she'd want. Not you giving up."
They sat there in silence for a long while, the city humming beneath them, each lost in their own thoughts.
But as the night grew darker, the clouds above started to shift, the winds picking up. Billy's gaze narrowed as he looked up. "Something's coming."
"What?" Bastian asked, not bothering to glance at the sky.
Billy's expression grew grim. "I don't know, but it's big. And it's not good."
The wind howled, swirling around them, a chill seeping into Bastian's bones.
And just like that, a strange sense of foreboding settled in his chest.
"What the hell is happening?" Bastian muttered under his breath.
Billy didn't answer, but the look on his face said everything. Whatever it was, it was coming fast.
"The winds howled like tortured souls, rattling the windows of the Drake Hotel building. Bastian hadn't moved from the ledge, eyes locked on the storm rolling in, black clouds swirling like something out of a nightmare. Billy was on edge, pacing back and forth, his usually calm demeanor shattered by the unnatural chaos in the air.
"This isn't just a storm," Billy muttered under his breath, his hands clenched into fists. "Something's wrong. I can feel it."
Bastian didn't respond. He was too numb, too exhausted from the days and weeks of searching, hoping, failing. It was like the universe was mocking him now. He'd lost Anastasia, the only reason he returned to Earth, and now this... whatever this was.
Just when things couldn't get worse.
"You gonna sit there until the sky falls, or you planning on helping me figure out what the hell's going on?" Billy's voice cut through the noise, sharp with frustration.
Bastian finally blinked, slowly pulling his gaze away from the horizon. "Does it even matter? Whatever this is... it's not her."
Billy stopped pacing, shooting him a look that could have cut steel. "It matters. We might not know where she is, but this?" He jabbed a finger toward the churning sky. "This is connected to everything. You think demons aren't watching? They know she's gone. They know you're broken. And now they're making their move."
A low rumble echoed in the distance, like the growl of a beast waking from slumber. The city beneath them flickered as the power lines strained against the wind, and somewhere far off, the sirens of emergency vehicles began to wail.
Bastian stood, the bottle of whiskey slipping from his hand and smashing on the rooftop, forgotten. "Fine. Let's deal with it."
They couldn't fly in daylight where they could be seen so they made their way down the hotel stairs in silence, the tension between them thick enough to suffocate. Once they hit the lobby, Bastian's phone buzzed in his pocket—Wyatt.
He answered on the second ring. "What is it?"
Wyatt's voice came through, rough and hurried. "We've got movement. Intel says demons are mobilizing, hitting up safehouses across the city. They're not being subtle about it either."
Bastian's jaw tightened. "You think it's connected to the storm?"
"Not a doubt in my mind. They're planning something, and whatever it is, it's gonna hit hard."
"We're on it," Bastian replied, then hung up before Wyatt could say more.
Billy shot him a glance. "So? What's the plan?"
"We hunt."
The streets of Chicago were chaotic. Dark, twisted clouds churned overhead, casting long shadows over the city, and the wind screamed through the narrow alleys. Bastian and Billy moved fast, weaving through the crowds of people who hadn't yet realized just how bad things were about to get.
Everywhere they went, there were whispers—fear rippling through the air like static electricity. People knew something was off. They always did, even if they didn't understand the danger. They had no choice – they had to run to an ally behind the hotel, unfolded their wings and took off in a fast blur to the skies.
"This is it," Billy said, nodding to a rundown building tucked into a forgotten corner of the city. The safehouse. Or what used to be one.
The front door was busted open, shattered pieces of wood scattered across the sidewalk. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and decay.
Bastian's heart pounded in his chest. It felt wrong. Everything about this night felt wrong.
They stepped inside, and immediately, the sound of fighting hit their ears—muffled, but intense.
"Bass, you hearing that?" Billy asked, eyes narrowing.
Bastian nodded. "Yeah. Let's move."
They sprinted down a narrow hallway, the noise of battle growing louder with every step. When they finally burst into the main room, it was chaos. Hunters, most of whom they knew, were in a brutal struggle with a swarm of demons. Clawed hands and sharpened teeth clashed with weapons and holy water, the air thick with the smell of blood and burning flesh.
Wyatt was in the middle of it all, his sword flashing through the air as he cut down demon after demon, eyes wild with a mix of fury and desperation.
But despite their efforts, the hunters were losing. Fast.
"We need to push them back!" Wyatt shouted, not bothering to look as Bastian and Billy joined the fray. "They're too many!"
Billy jumped into action, a blur of motion as he engaged two demons at once, his fists glowing with energy. Bastian barely had time to think before a massive demon lunged at him, its razor-sharp claws aiming straight for his throat.
He sidestepped at the last second, slamming his fist into the demon's ribcage, sending it crashing into the wall. The force of the hit reverberated through his bones, but it barely fazed him. He was running on pure adrenaline now.
But even as they fought, Bastian couldn't shake the feeling that something bigger was happening. This wasn't just a random attack. This was planned. This was deliberate.
And then he felt it.
A sudden, sharp pain shot through his chest—a burning, searing sensation that brought him to his knees. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe.
"Bastian!" Billy's voice echoed through the chaos, but it sounded far away, like he was underwater.
It was her. He felt her. For the first time in weeks, he felt her.
Anastasia.
She was alive.
"Billy," he gasped, clutching his chest. "She's alive."
Billy barely had time to react before another demon tackled him, sending him crashing into a pile of rubble. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Bastian staggered to his feet, ignoring the battle raging around him. "I felt her. She's alive."
Billy's eyes widened, but before he could respond, a deafening roar shook the building, followed by the sound of something crashing through the roof.
They both looked up in time to see a massive, winged figure descend from the sky, its dark form blotting out the light.
"Get ready," Billy muttered, his voice tight with fear.
But Bastian wasn't listening. His mind was somewhere else—focused on one thing, and one thing only.
Anastasia was alive.
And he was going to find her.