Sandra walked among the wounded, healing and bringing people back from the realms of death. She reached down to calm nerves and offer kind words; then, she stretched out her hands. A glow erupted in them, and power flowed into cuts and gashes, healing what would take weeks down to hours. It wasn't perfect nor complete, but it was enough to keep people alive.

  Daryush sat on a bench, gritting his teeth while Sandra cleaned the gash on his arm. The barbed wire had torn through muscle, nearly to bone. He'd kept fighting anyway, emptying his Deagle into morphs until the cylinder clicked empty.

  "This is going to scar," Sandra said quietly.

  "Don't give a damn." Daryush's voice was rough. "Just make sure I can still shoot."

  Mark was worse. Alexander hadn't even noticed the wounds. Perhaps due to the adrenaline of battle, he'd seen them move up and down and keep fighting. In his case, shrapnel from an exploding window had peppered his right side. Small pieces of glass were embedded in his ribs, his shoulder, and even his neck. Sandra had already pulled out a dozen fragments. More remained.

  "Hold still," she murmured, her fingers probing carefully. "This one's deep."

  Mark's response was a simple grunt. He stared at the wall, jaw clenched, breathing through his nose. Sandra put on her gloves and proceeded to do a simple surgery, with scalpel and all, getting rid of the shards as blood welled up. She proceeded to dress the wound, pushing mana with her glowing hand. The bleeding suddenly stopped.

  Mark was speechless, eyes wide before he tested out his arm, finding no pain.

  Sofia sat in the corner with the other children, drawing with crayons. He took a glance and thought he saw her drawing a muscular guy with an axe fighting against winged devils.

  He gritted his teeth and felt guilty. He felt endearment. He felt proud of helping her, but knew no child should have been there to see such violence. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't TV.

  Alexander moved toward his room and suddenly felt a stab in his ribs. Samantha approached, headphones around her head, blasting "Heaven and Hell" from Black Sabbath so loud that Alex could hear every word clearly. Her left arm was in a sling. The bone had been set but not healed. Sandra had done what she could, but bones took time. Even with magic.

  "How's your wound?" Samantha asked, pulling out her phone, pausing the music, and putting her earphones around her neck.

  "I'm fine."

  "Yeah, you are. That thing should've killed you, though."

  "What do they say? Thank God it didn't. And I'm serious. I'm happy I'm alive. How about you?"

  "You should be," she said, uncrossing her good arm. "And this... well, it's the usual. It's gonna get better soon."

  Alexander sighed.

  "I'm not talking about your fracture," he said slowly. "Are you worried about any visions? Anything else happening in the near future?"

  She shook her head. "No, just a hunch it's gonna be trouble for both you and me." She looked him straight in the eye. "You've got to take care of yourself. Of what you've chosen."

  "I keep hearing that. But in all honesty, I think I can handle myself. I'm surprised, but also relieved that I am still myself after doing that."

  Samantha shook her head. "You're saying this now. And listen, I haven't had your experience, but I know it's not gonna be easy. You'll have more chances. Not even chances; you'll have moments of desperation when you'll feel there's no other choice. So don't you ever forget what you're capable of, because if you do, you'll forget the consequences."

  Alex leaned back.

  And he knew she was right. He couldn't pretend he wouldn't do it again, for instance, to defend someone. Doing things for the right reason could, once again, push him to the edge.

  But the power he had felt and the strength he had gained were tempting and wonderful at once.

  They sat in silence for a moment.

  Sean appeared, carrying bottles of water. He handed them out wordlessly. When he reached Alexander and Samantha, he sat down across from them.

  "Here's Goku. Man, that was incredible," Alexander said. "You really saved our asses last night."

  "We all saved each other," Sean said before sitting down. "You did too with your new bound entities. And Samantha, without you, we wouldn't be here."

  A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "I'd never seen you do your full-on attack. It was actually badass."

  "How long have you been able to do it?" Alex asked.

  "I really hadn't ever channeled so much as last night. I've been training for decades, though. I started when I was thirteen and had my first true qi channeling powers at eighteen. Mana, I mean, same thing. Or almost. My grandfather was the one who taught me before he died. He'd studied in China, learned from old masters who kept the traditions alive even after the Cultural Revolution tried to destroy them." Sean took a sip of water. "Marion recognized what I was when we met five years ago. She helped me bridge my knowledge with, you know, her version of the tradition."

  Alex smiled.

  "So those kung fu qi powers are real after all."

  "They're actually hard to come by... just like with this, it takes a real initiation, real training. But it's using mana after all, the same that you use, the life force that shapes the universe. Marion found me and... opened up new doorways I didn't know existed."

  They fell quiet again.

  "We could have all died tonight," Samantha said suddenly. Her voice was soft, almost too quiet to hear. "I saw things... before the battle started. Fragments. Flashes. I feared the worst. I... I have seen some things, but still can't make out when they will happen. I usually can't see past the next day."

  "But we didn't die," Sean said. "Samantha, I'm sure things are gonna be fine."

  Alex looked at him. "Hey, man, I like you. You've got good vibes."

  "He does," Samantha agreed, checking her phone before sliding it back into her pocket. "We've got a pretty nice team in here. It's... one of the things that keeps me sane."

  Thomas emerged from upstairs. His face was gray, and a red tint had taken over his eyes. He walked like he'd aged twenty years in the past hour, with a hunch he hadn't had before and a slight limp.

  "She wants to see you," he said curtly. "All of you. Now, while she still can. I'll go get the tiger too. She needs all of you."

  The group exchanged glances and straightened again. They filed upstairs into Alex's former office.

  Marion lay on the sofa, covered with blankets that did nothing to hide how thin she'd become. He had seen her bleeding from her ears and eyes. Refugees had told him the rest. While Alexander and the others had defended the northern access to the street, Marion and Thomas had fought bravely, killing hundreds each.

  But now, she looked like she had aged two decades. Alexander could see veins beneath the surface of her skin. Her hair had gone completely white. When she opened her eyes, the pupils were clouded, almost opaque. Thomas entered minutes later, followed by Tyger Tyger.

  "This better be essential," the half-demon said, cat-sized, before leaping over Alex's desk and settling there.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Alexander," Marion whispered. "Come closer."

  He knelt beside the sofa. Her hand found his, but her grip was soft and weak, and her clouded eyes moved slowly toward him.

  "They want you on their side. They really do."

  "I won't ever go over to their side," Alex said. "It's everything I stand against. It's..."

  Her eyebrows rose just a millimeter. Alex knew what she meant. Alex had to accept the darkness that now resided in him and wanted to grow.

  "What did he tell you?" she said softly. "Tell me everything. Tell us everything."

  Alexander cleared his throat, then repeated the conversation word for word, especially the offer and the threat.

  And when he got to the verse... dreaming death...

  Samantha stiffened.

  Alexander noticed her reaction but continued the story.

  "Any idea who his master is?" he asked after he was done.

  Marion was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked at Thomas and pushed herself upward.

  The priest helped her sit up, propping pillows behind her back.

  "Names have power. Especially for entities like this. Saying the name might give us leverage and might help us find weaknesses." Marion coughed, blood flecking her lips. Thomas wiped it away gently. "But I have suspicions. Based on what you described. The offer it made. The way it spoke about black magic and sacrifice and turning you into a weapon."

  Her eyes swung toward Samantha. "Samantha, child. Tell us about Iraq."

  Samantha's face went pale. Her good hand clenched into a fist. "I don't... I can't..."

  "I know it's hard. I know it's painful. There are so many things you've been trying to bury. But it might be the key to understanding what we're facing." Marion's voice was gentle but firm. "Please, Samantha. We need to know if my suspicions are true. We all need to know."

  Samantha took a shaky breath. Then another. Then she spoke, and her voice was barely above a whisper.

  "We saw things that no one should. We... were on a mission, fighting some ISIS positions... we reached some ancient ruins and found them performing... executions. They weren't just killing people randomly. Their cruelty didn't come from religion or simple savagery. It was something much worse. Yes, those ISIS fighters were fools and dregs enticed by their impulses, justifying them with religion. But deep down, they were being guided by dark sorcerers."

  She paused.

  "They were killing families. They tortured them horribly. These ISIS fighters were murdering some people they called pagans. I learned that the victims were a small Mandean sect in Eastern Iraq... ISIS besieged them and killed hundreds... murdering women, children, and innocent men. But this temple, this... structure where they were doing this was not just any place. It was a sort of prison."

  Alex raised an eyebrow. "Prison?"

  "Not just any prison. A spiritual prison. An entity had been locked in that temple." Samantha's breathing was getting faster. "The Mandean priest, before he died, said it had been built for a man, a sorcerer, who hated God and everything good. A man who rejected everything holy. He wanted to link the powers of evil directly to himself—to become a conduit for hell itself." Samantha's voice cracked. "The priest said he'd been sealed away. Bound. Imprisoned for centuries. And his followers have been working to bring him back ever since. The sorcerers behind ISIS... they wanted to bring him back. They said... he had been waiting for centuries, dreaming death before the end."

  Alexander nodded. Dreaming death.

  It was exactly what the Duke had said to him.

  "And what was the man's name?" Alex asked.

  "He went by different names. It was Abd Al Rashid al Khaled. But they called him Abdul Al Hazrad."

  Alex snickered. "The Mad Arab?"

  Everyone looked at him.

  "Wait, so..." he said. "He's not made up?"

  Samantha's glance was dead serious.

  "No, he was very real. He was a black magician," Marion said. "One of the greatest. He lived over a thousand years ago. Somewhere in the Umayyad Caliphate. Born in Yemen, some texts say. Others claim Damascus or Baghdad."

  "What did he do?" Alex asked. "Wasn't he a fictional name created by H. P. Lovecraft? And wasn't he supposed to be just some guy who went crazy after reading certain occult texts?"

  "On the contrary," Marion said slowly. "He was a practitioner who sought everything forbidden. Every ritual that required innocent blood. Every binding that cost souls instead of mana. Every transformation that stripped away humanity piece by piece." Marion's voice was steady despite the pain in her eyes. "He wrote it all down. Created a grimoire that contained the sum of his knowledge. His crimes. His descent into something that could barely be called human anymore."

  "The Necronomicon," Alexander giggled.

  "Indeed," Marion said. "And it is no laughing matter. You have been fighting shoggoths this week. You know Lovecraft was not writing fiction."

  Alex sighed. "Wait, so is it really called... the Necronomicon?"

  "Different names. Whatever it's called, it exists. I've seen fragments of it. The Nine recovered pages from various sources over the years. Every piece we found made my skin crawl. The magic in those pages isn't just dark. It's more of what we've seen. Fundamentally opposed to life. To sanity. To everything that makes us human."

  "And Abdul himself?" Sean asked. "What happened to him? Was he really trapped in there like some vampire?"

  "First, he was defeated. By who or how, the accounts differ. Some say angels intervened. Others say he was executed by the Caliph as a heretic, centuries later, right before the Mongol invasion. A few claim he simply went too far, consumed so much demonic power that his body couldn't contain it and he was destroyed." Marion paused. "But the Sabian or Mandean tradition says something different. They say he kept possessing other bodies after death. As a result, they could not destroy his cursed soul, and had to seal him. Locked away in a prison beneath the earth. Dreaming death until the end. But it is said by some dark mages that he still communicates through the dream world. Maybe it is how he built his army of cultists."

  "So, it's definitely him," Mark said.

  "Most likely. He'd been searching, waiting for enough corruption to spread across the world that the seal would weaken. For enough innocent blood to be spilled that he could feed on it and grow stronger. For followers to find his book and continue his work." Marion's eyes locked onto Samantha. "For someone to complete the ritual that would free him."

  "When I was in Iraq," Samantha whispered. "We stopped the ritual. They were pawns... in his game. We killed the ISIS fighters. Collapsed the chamber. But..."

  "It was too late," Marion said. "The priest who was being sacrificed told you that, didn't he? In his final moments. Warned you that stopping the ritual wasn't enough. That Al Hazrad had already begun his return."

  "What happened with this priest?" Alex asked.

  Samantha nodded, tears streaming down her face. "Right before he died, bleeding to death from his neck, he initiated me and gave me the gift of sight. To fight against the Dark."

  Thomas crossed his arms. "I was already too late. He was gathering strength for this. All of this is feeding him. Making him stronger. Every death. Every act of corruption. Every person who gives in to darkness. It is likely that he is the master, or if not... one of the minds behind this."

  "And he wants me," Alexander asked. "Why me, though?"

  Marion answered, "Can't you see how gifted you are? Because of your bloodline. The last Dee. And it is said that John Dee found something. Something Al Hazra must want." Marion's breathing was getting labored. "The True Ring of Solomon. The artifact that could bind anything. Even ancient entities. Even Al Hazra himself."

  "Wait. Why... would that make a difference? I know the mythology. Solomon used the ring to control demons. Al Hazra already has them under control, doesn't he? Is it even real?"

  "He hasn't bound them," Samantha said. "Binding means absolute control and submission. Not mind control. He only stirs them with his will. If the ring exists, he can subdue them fully."

  Marion spoke softly. "If he's the one who's causing all this, he is the Dajjal, he is the Evil One, he's the Antichrist."

  "So the Antichrist, huh? How do we fight something like that?" Alex asked. "We barely survived tonight. And that was just lesser demons and one Duke."

  "There's a reason why we're in Seattle. It's in Samantha's visions. It's the epicenter of the cult." Marion's breathing was shallow now.

  "Thank you, I was waiting for that explanation."

  ***

  In the main gym area, survivors were settling down to sleep. Exhausted bodies on mats and benches. Children curled up against adults. Everyone too tired to do anything but close their eyes and hope they'd wake up.

  Alexander, Samantha, and Sean found a quiet corner away from the others. They sat in a rough circle, their backs against the wall.

  "Abdul Al Hazrad," Sean said quietly. "It's a tough thing to do, huh? Fight the Antichrist."

  "The worst thing is that he wants me. But I won't give in," Alexander said. "Whatever it takes. I won't become his weapon."

  "The problem is 'whatever it takes' might include things that corrupt you anyway," Samantha said. "You consumed that imp's heart. Crossed another threshold. Got stronger, but at what cost?"

  "I know. I felt it. The pull. The whisper that said I should take more. Consume more. Get stronger faster." Alexander's hands clenched. "But I stopped. I can still stop."

  "For now. But what about tomorrow? Next week? When we're facing something even worse and the only way to survive is to cross another threshold?" Samantha's voice was gentle but firm. "That's how it works. That's how Al Hazra did it. Small compromises. Little steps. Each one justified. Each one necessary. Until you look back and realize you've walked so far into darkness you can't find your way out."

  "Then you'll pull me back, won't you?" Alexander said. "That's what you do, right? See the disasters coming and warn me?"

  "I can try, but I can't stop what's already written." She looked at her broken arm. "I saw this but couldn't prevent it. What if I see you falling and can't stop it?"

  "Then Sean will," Alexander said, looking at the cultivator. "Between your visions and his fire and my binding, we cover each other's weaknesses. That's how we survive this."

  "Maybe," Samantha said. "Or maybe we're just three broken people trying to hold back a tide that's been building for a thousand years. Marion had the Nine. An entire organization of trained practitioners. And they barely managed to slow Al Hazra down. What makes us think we can do better?"

  "Because we don't have a choice," Sean said. "Whether we live or die, we must do our best."

  "Good." Alexander squeezed her hand. "Don't let me forget who I am. Either of you. If I start sounding like that Duke, if I start talking about necessary sacrifices and acceptable losses, stop me. By force if you have to."

  "Agreed," Sean said.

  "And I'll try to give you warning when I see darkness coming," Samantha said. "Not just visions of danger, but visions of... of us losing ourselves. Becoming what we're fighting against. If I see that, I'll tell you. Even if it hurts."

  They sat like that for a while, hands clasped. But together, maybe they could manage.