The wind moved first – cold and sudden across the Charles Bridge, carrying the stink of blood and smoke from the broken city behind them.

Max sat slumped on the stone, elbows braced against trembling knees. His shirt clung to him in tatters, soaked through with sweat and something darker. His head was down, hair matted to his face. His breath rattled.

Victor crouched beside him, one arm half-looped around Max's back – not too tight, not too loose. Just enough to catch him if he fell again.

Max tried to speak. Just one word. It didn't make it past his throat.

The cough hit hard – wet and violent. Max doubled over, blood spattering his palm. Victor shifted, catching him before he collapsed.

"Easy, man. Easy," he muttered. "Breathe. That's all. In… out. You're alright. You're alright."

Dan moved fast, kneeling opposite. His palms glowed gold – soft, warm light spilling into Max's chest, his shoulders, his spine. The bleeding slowed. The tremors eased. But the light didn't sink in deep. It lingered shallow – like it couldn't find purchase beneath the surface.

Dan's brow furrowed. "The worst of the physical damage is gone," he said, quietly, more to himself than anyone. "That healing I did… earlier… it should've covered everything. But this…" He glanced at Victor, then at Max's flickering chest. "This is deeper. Something's torn at his soul."

"Overuse?" Alyssa asked. Her voice came from behind, cautious. "He awakened thousands. Maybe more."

"Maybe. Or something else got to him," Dan said. "Something that shouldn't be able to touch the soul."

Max's gold halo flickered above his head – barely more than a faint ring of embers. Its light sputtered, laced with thin veins of cracked blue fire, like dried rivers through scorched earth.

Then Liz stepped forward. Quiet. Barefoot. Steady.

She knelt in front of him without a word, her red halo casting its own glow – bloody, vibrant, alive. She reached out and placed her hand flat against his chest. Not to heal. Just to hold him there. To anchor him.

For a moment, their lights touched – red and pale gold, flickering together. A fragile, broken circuit. Not whole. But alive.

Max blinked at her. His lips cracked open again. No coughing this time. Just breath. Then, slowly, he raised one shaking hand – pointing, past Liz, past the others, to the far end of the bridge.

"...There," he rasped.

They turned.

The city beyond the bridge had changed.

Alyssa was the first to spot it. "The veins," she said. Her voice low. Uneasy. "They're… pulling back."

Across the skyline, meat-veins recoiled – slithering into cracks, withdrawing from shattered windows, vanishing into the streets below.

Chloe didn't move. Her eyes locked on the skyline.

She whispered, "He knows we're here."

Then louder, with no emotion at all: "Belphegor is coming."

The silence that followed was heavier than the city's rot. The reunion was already dying, crumbling under the weight of what came next.

There was no rest. Not yet.

…………………

The shelter wasn't much – just a half-collapsed tram station tucked under the bridge's spine. Broken seats. Shattered vending machines. Water pooled along the floor in a thin, oily sheen. The Tomas puppets hadn't followed. But the red sky hadn't faded either.

The group huddled in silence, breathless. Their halos and a flickering emergency lamp cast long, warped shadows across the cracked walls.

Liz turned to Chloe.

Her voice was low. Kind, but lined with something steel-hard. "Dan and I have been out of the loop. We've heard whispers about King Tomas. But who is Belphegor?"

Chloe didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, jaw tight, hands clenched.

"Tomas was never real," she said. "He was just the puppet. The mask. The thing pulling the strings is what matters."

She pointed down – toward the city's core, or maybe beneath it. "There's a vault beneath the Old Palace. A room built like a tomb. I phased inside. And I saw it."

She swallowed.

"It's not a demon in the normal sense. Not even like the others. It's a cocoon of flesh. Rotting, wet, and watching. There were dozens of eyes. No face. Just nerves and sinew and puppet cords running out in every direction."

She exhaled slowly. "It was Tomas. All of them. That's what they were connected to."

Alyssa's lip curled. "Figures. Bastard felt like a puppet. Just a filthy pervert wearing a smile."

Ying nodded, arms folded. "Tomas was taking people. That's what the tribute system was. Selection, transport, silence. But it wasn't random."

Victor's voice came low, bitter. "I was one of them."

All eyes shifted to him. He didn't look away.

"They didn't ask questions. Didn't even speak. Just drugged me and packed me in like cargo."

Ying added, "Enforcers either sent people to Tomas, or to what they called the Flame Father—" her eyes flicked to Max "—or to wherever they took Victor. None of them came back."

Chloe's jaw tightened. Her voice dropped to something colder.

"When I was inside that vault, I saw a slit open in the cocoon. Not a mouth – just raw muscle, twitching. It looked at me. And I…" Her hands shook slightly. "I stabbed it. Took his eyes."

Alyssa gave a short nod. "I saw it too. Just for a moment. He… screamed. Not out loud. In the walls. In the air. Chloe hurt the bastard."

Liz said nothing. Her brow was furrowed. Her red halo pulsed brighter – then brighter again. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly.

Silence.

Then: "I'm searching," she said. "Psychically. He's not… visible. Not in any one place. But he's here."

Her voice dropped. "I can feel him. Like a pulse beneath the streets. The city hasn't stopped twitching because he hasn't stopped thinking."

Max shifted, barely above a whisper. "He's hidden. Under the city."

Victor's claws flexed. "Then we'll rip him out by the roots. And kill what's left."

Alyssa punched her palm with a dull thud. "No mercy. Not for this one."

Chloe's voice cut through the air. Hard. Steady. Razor-sharp.

"This is my kill," she said. "I need him dead. For what he did to Max… and for every innocent soul he fed to that pit."

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No one argued.

They didn't need to.

…………………

They ducked behind the shattered remnants of a vending machine, tucked away from the others. The shelter creaked with the weight of silence and water, distant pipes dripping like a countdown. Liz moved first, guiding Chloe and Alyssa into the alcove with a gentle hand. Her red halo dimmed as she lowered her psychic guard, giving them space to breathe.

They didn't speak right away.

Alyssa leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Chloe sat on a broken seat, eyes down, fingers twitching at the hem of her sleeve. Both looked like they'd clawed their way out of a nightmare – because they had.

Liz crouched down, facing them. She didn't look like a commander. Just a girl who'd lost too much and showed up anyway.

Her voice was soft. "Are you two… alright? It sounds like you went through hell."

Alyssa snorted. Not with humour. Just breath forced through exhaustion. "Yeah. We were taken straight off the street. Fast. Quiet. No struggle." Her jaw tightened. "But it went downhill after they stripped us…"

Liz's expression snapped. The kindness in her eyes bled out.

"Stripped?"

The word hit the air like a slap.

Chloe looked up. Her voice was calm, too calm. Cold, even. "Yeah. Tomas— Belphegor— had plans. Rape. Then kill. That wasn't new for him. We weren't the first."

Alyssa didn't flinch. "Creepy fuck. He was a smothering wall of flesh. Arms, legs, mouths, dicks. It wasn't going to be a good death."

Then, something else – sharper – twisted her mouth into a crooked grin. "So it was satisfying when Chloe tore into him."

Liz didn't speak. Her fists curled slowly. Her red halo pulsed once behind her skull, jagged edges flickering like blades.

Chloe leaned forward. Her eyes were steadier now. Focused.

"I can't imagine what your dad endured," she said. "But we saw what Belphegor is doing to the girls and boys here. We saw the rot. The system. The feeding."

She locked eyes with Liz. "He needs to be carved out of this city. Root and nerve."

Liz nodded slowly, lips pressed into a tight line. She looked at both of them. There was fury in her eyes. And sorrow. And something deeper – guilt that didn't belong to her, but clung anyway.

"I'm so sorry," she said. Her voice cracked a little. "That he… I'm just so damn sorry."

Chloe shook her head. "This isn't on you."

She looked toward the others – toward Max, collapsed and barely conscious in the distance. "I know the plan was to get you out the second we found him. That was the deal. And you should go. He needs care. Real healing."

She hesitated. Then said it: "But I can't leave. Not until I finish this. I need to kill that thing."

Alyssa didn't wait. "Same. I'm not walking away while that fucker still breathes."

Liz breathed in – slow and deep. Her eyes never left theirs.

"Then I'm staying too," she said. "I can't leave you alone… and I won't let these people keep suffering."

She straightened. "I'll talk to Ying. Ask her and Uncle Vic to protect Dad. We'll voidslice back to the Institute… after we kill this demon. After we free this city."

The words hung in the air.

Chloe nodded once. Alyssa reached out and touched Liz's shoulder. Just briefly. No fanfare. No speeches.

A pact. Forged in silence.

Three girls – burned, brutalised, but unbroken.

They weren't done. Not until Belphegor fell.

…………………

The wind on the bridge had changed.

It still stank – of smoke, of old blood, of the sour copper breath of a dying city—but beneath it now was something else. A tremor. The feeling of a thing watching. Breathing through the bones of Prague itself.

Liz stepped back into the group first.

Alyssa and Chloe flanked her, eyes darker than before. No hesitation in their posture. No softness left in their steps. Only resolve.

Dan was the first to turn. His eyes flicked over them – checking for wounds, counting faces, pausing at Liz like he wanted to ask a hundred questions but didn't know which mattered most.

Ying stepped forward. She didn't say hello. Her voice was low. Clipped. Quiet in a way that made people listen.

"Max is back. And safe. For now."

She paused.

"You know the orders."

The silence between them stretched a second longer than it needed to.

Ying didn't blink. "We leave. Now."

Liz met her gaze. Straight-on. She didn't raise her voice. Didn't plead. She just said—

"I'm staying."

Ying blinked once. Just once. Then her eyes narrowed.

"I know that look," she said. "You've already decided."

The others turned. Dan's brow furrowed. Victor's gaze dropped briefly to Max – still lying near the bridge edge, breath shallow.

Dan exhaled. "Liz, this is dangerous. We just got your dad back. But…"

He glanced out at the city – its red glow twitching at the edges like a living wound.

"…I can feel it. The pain here. The weight. We're standing in the centre of something broken. And it's still bleeding."

Victor's voice was quieter. More guarded.

"I want to get Max out too. More than anything."

He hesitated. "But if Belphegor's still alive... then this isn't over."

Ying didn't argue. But her tone sharpened.

"You're not thinking it through."

She lifted her hand, gesturing to the burning skyline behind them.

"To the south? Lilith's hives. Her spawn. Her swarms." "To the east? Agrath's blood cult. The vampire nobles, and worse." "Every other direction is wasteland or warzone."

She looked at all of them now. Even Chloe.

"Prague has only survived this long because Belphegor claimed it. Whatever he is— he's a deterrent. You kill him, and something worse will come. That's not a maybe."

Alyssa spat onto the stone.

"I don't think there is worse."

Ying met her eyes. Grim. Silent. But didn't answer.

Chloe stepped forward. Her voice was calm. Flat.

"Ying's right. The vacuum will pull something in. Another demon lord. Or worse."

She looked out at the broken rooftops. "But I'm still killing him."

Victor scratched his jaw, thinking.

"Those Tomas clones. The ones patrolling the city. They're not random. I saw the pit. I think I know how Belphegor makes them."

He glanced at Liz.

"If we can stop the feeding – control the source – maybe we could turn them. Use them to protect Prague instead of enslave it."

Liz nodded slowly.

"I have a way."

All eyes turned.

"When I psychically touched the network – when he screamed – I felt it. A central link. One mind pushing signals to a hundred puppets."

"If we kill him the right way – and I get in fast enough – I can override it. Break the old chain. Replace it with something better."

Liz turned to Victor. "Maybe we can turn the poison into medicine."

Alyssa looked between them.

"So, we stay. And we fight."

The silence after that was heavier than before.

No one argued. No one moved. And then, from behind them—

A voice. Cracked. Dry. But real.

"Yes."

They turned.

Max had shifted – barely – but his eyes were open. Bloodshot. Glowing faintly gold and blue. His body trembled just to lift his head. But the words came.

"We kill this monster."

His voice cracked again – but the fire in it didn't.

And just like that – their decision wasn't a debate anymore.

It was a promise. A reckoning.

And in the distance, the city pulsed red. Watching.

…………………

The silence after Max's words held like a held breath.

No wind. No moaning city. No gods or monsters. Just them.

Max's fire had flickered back to life, and it was enough.

Then— footsteps.

Soft. Barefoot. Wet.

They came from the far end of the bridge, the one facing the old palace where Tomas once ruled.

Ying's head snapped up first.

Out of the red fog emerged a figure.

Gaunt. Pale. Balding. His head shone like wax under the city's glow. His limbs were too long, his posture wrong – like a puppet that had forgotten it was ever human. His clothes hung off his frame, hospital-pale and stained around the seams.

His eyes gleamed. His mouth curled into a smile that didn't stop— Too many teeth. Too much intent. And beneath the smile, his fingers twitched constantly, like the nerves remembered every soul they'd peeled open.

And when he spoke, it was with Tomas's voice.

"Stretching your legs a bit, Max?"

The team turned instantly – tension detonating through their bodies.

Belphegor kept walking. Unhurried. Leisurely, like a man visiting friends.

"I suppose those chains were a bit uncomfortable," he said, voice syrup-slick. "I'll have to tighten them when I take you back."

He grinned wider. "I'm not done with you yet."

Max's hands trembled. Just for a second. The gold in his eyes flickered, and something learned – told him to run.

The demon stopped a few metres away and tilted his head. His eyes drank them in like a collector admiring old pieces.

"Ying." "Victor." "Daniel." A pause. "Elizabeth— the dutiful daughter."

Then he turned toward Chloe and Alyssa.

"And of course," he cooed. "My beauties. Alyssa. Chloe."

Chloe's blade was already half-drawn. Alyssa's fists clenched.

Belphegor tapped a long finger against the ragged scabs where his eyes had once been. The sockets still leaked slow trails of dark ichor – new eyes grown in crooked, imperfectly aligned.

"I have something special planned for us, Chloe. A little thank-you for…" He made a scratching motion at his face. "This."

Ying's breath caught. Her eyes sharpened.

"He knows our names," she said flatly. "He knew Max was moved before we arrived." Then, quieter: "There's a mole. Someone betrayed us."

Victor snapped. "How do you know our names, freak?"

Ying, nearly overlapping, stepped forward.

"Who's your mole, demon? Who sold us out?"

Belphegor didn't answer. He just smiled. Wider now. Hungrier.

Chloe took another step forward, sword gleaming in the haze.

"I don't care who it is," she said. "You're not leaving this bridge."

The demon's spine cracked. Loud. Wet. His back split open as new ridges formed beneath the skin. Fingers lengthened. Wrists split into branching stalks of meat and tendon.

The smile never faded.

Around him, the stone of the bridge began to bubble—

And from it, six forms rose.

They crawled out like maggots from meat. Tall. Twisted. Each with Tomas's face but wrong. Melted. Stretched. Multiplied.

Some had two arms. Some had six. One dragged itself with hands shaped like knives. Another stood still, spine bent in reverse, mouth split from ear to ear.

Half-human. Half-puppet. Grinning. Dripping. Armed with bone-blades, teeth, and exposed nerves.

Belphegor's voice shifted – lower now. Less Tomas. More raw.

"I brought playmates," he said.

"One for each of you."

He cocked his head, admiring the way their eyes widened, the way Dan flared his aura, the way Liz's halo pulsed blood-red.

"Don't die too quickly," he purred. "I want to watch."

The spawn fully formed – twisted reflections of the team – each stepping forward, eager to tear flesh from soul. One for each of them – six puppets for six defenders. Grotesque mockeries shaped for murder.

And the city screamed with their names.

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