Turns out Ilania was a superfan. Knew every single one of my vids. Had
opinions.
While the two-headed influencer gushed about my Oscars red carpet breakdown and Met Gala coverage, Antwan was watching a scene straight from This Old Streetlife.
A short, twitchy lamplighter was dragging a ladder from post to post, lighting up gray little flames in glass lanterns. Even the fire here looked
bored. But I guess to the locals—assuming they were more than just next- gen holograms—that meant it was nighttime.
We finally stopped at a small log cabin—the only wooden structure in the whole area. Ilania told us to wait. While she headed for the door, Antwan was distracted by a pack of women waddling away from a nearby river, each balancing a yoke on her shoulders with buckets for laundry. No detergent. No influencers. Hardcore stuff.
Then came the scream.
The young half of Ilania let out a bone-shattering wail that froze Antwan's spine into a popsicle. It wasn’t just loud—it was ancient. Like the sound of entire empires collapsing in one breath. It wasn’t for us, obviously. It was a doorbell.
Nothing happened.
The old side of Ilania rolled her eyes and bellowed:
- Sooon! Get your wrinkled ass out here, you crusty fart! Me and the Reaper ain’t got all night!
There was some shuffling from behind the thick oak door. It creaked open just a crack, and a gravelly voice groaned from within:
- Who the hell’s out there yelling at this hour? Go away, unless you wanna meet my dogs!
- You don’t have any Now drag your sorry face out here and see who came calling.
A scruffy old man poked his head out. His face looked like a deflated football left in the sun. But the second he laid eyes on Ilania, he hit the porch knees-first, sobbing into his threadbare pants:
- Please! I’m begging you! I got grandkids in there! Little ones! Let me rock them to sleep a few more nights, and then you can have me! Just not yet!
Huge tears rolled down his cheeks and soaked right into his chest hair like doomed raindrops.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The ancient banshee just twisted what passed for her face into a smug little frown and mumbled in the dullest voice imaginable:
- Sorry, bro, nothing This is just my side hustle for the last few centuries. Let’s roll! — She snapped to her second self, and the younger Ilania screamed again — louder, harder, more apocalyptically dramatic.
The old man’s crying stopped cold right in front of Antwan. Before the kid could even move, the guy’s head started to collapse like an empty soda can
- shrinking down to the size of a baby’s fist, his flesh peeling off, hair evaporating, clothes turning to ghost-dust.
And Mama Banshee? She was out here hoovering up those necro-particles like it was a protein shake from the underworld.
Antwan tried to help. Really. But I held him back. We waited for the whole awful thing to finish, standing there like this was just another Tuesday.
-Ali, how could you?! You just watched an innocent man die! — He whispered in my brain, voice trembling.
- His time was Can’t mess with the cosmic balance, kid. She had every right.
Antwan had never seen me like this. Fatalistic. Cold. Like I’d just swapped out my soul for a parking meter. Was his auntie—the fearless demon- smasher of City—really gonna throw a random civilian under the bus just to get some intel from her monster mom?
He tried to shake off the thought. Nah, it couldn’t be. She’s not like that… right?
Right?
I could tell he was spiraling, so I jumped ahead in the convo, trying to keep the plot moving:
- Where do They come from? What are They? And who the hell is Noah? Was he around before the Obscurity showed up?
- Well damn, you’re going straight for the jugular, huh? — Purred the now well-fed banshee. Her old side actually looked kinda glowy now, with rosy
cheeks and everything.
Can’t say the same for the poor soul she slurped — he didn’t even leave behind a skeleton.
- The mysteries you seek are veiled in time… like dew upon the morning vine… — sang the younger half, floating dangerously close to interpretive
- Ugh, cut the slam poetry, you walking haiku! Just answer me straight! — Alenari snapped.
- Yo, chill, baby mama, she is telling it like it is! You still don’t get it? Nobody knows jack about what’s beyond the It’s all chaos and creepy vibes 24/7. As for your bloodsucker boy toy? He sure as hell wasn’t one of the original locals, babe. C’mon, you know those people don’t exist anymore, right?
Yeah. That one hit home. And she wasn’t wrong.
The Obscurity didn’t get its name from a branding firm. Nobody knew squat about it. And every time those anthropomorphic freaks showed up, Alenari had cross-checked them with the city's old census records. Nothing. They weren’t anybody. Just... emerged. Fully formed. Like nightmares with social security numbers missing.
- Alright then, let’s go What do we do now? — She asked, voice low, heavy.
Her gut felt like it was being clawed up by a whole damn zoo.
- A simple question, true and fine… but evil grows on twisted Step beyond the line you fear… and truth shall whisper in your ear… sit or stand, it matters not… but cleanse your soul from stagnant rot…
- That… was a — Alenari mocked her mom’s rhyme with an eye roll that probably dislocated something. — You’re seriously telling me to just dive headfirst into the Obscurity? That no one has ever come back from? Are you nuts?
- Are you even human? — Squinted the old — You act all badass commando all the time. Well, now’s your chance to prove it. Since my
charming cousin already gave you her blessing, I’ll toss in something practical.