The darkness ends leaving the bright lights of the sun to enter,
the darkness the demons who roamed the night at silence now reduced into a ripple of silence.
The first rays of dawn spilled over Cypress Hills Cemetery, bathing the gravestones in a pale, ethereal light. The cool morning mist clung to the ground, curling around Steven Henderson's boots as he walked the winding path toward the caretaker's humble chapel. His bike, the infernal machine that once terrified him, now idled quietly near the gate, smoke rising faintly from its exhaust.
For the first time, his transformation back to his human form had been seamless, almost tranquil—a stark contrast to the excruciating pain he'd felt before. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, his mind raced. He knew this power, this spirit of vengeance, was only the beginning of a much darker journey.
Inside the chapel, the caretaker stood by a window, gazing out at the rising sun. He turned as Steven entered, his weathered face betraying a mix of concern and expectation.
"You're back," the caretaker said, his voice carrying the weight of decades. "I figured you'd have more questions by now."
Steven nodded, his expression tense. "You figured right. I've killed one of them—Gressil. But there's more, and I need to know what I'm dealing with. I also need to understand this... thing inside me."
The caretaker motioned for Steven to sit, but he remained standing, leaning against the doorframe.
"You're starting to feel it, aren't you?" the caretaker asked, his piercing eyes meeting Steven's. "The spirit isn't just a power you use. It's a force that changes you, body and soul."
Steven's jaw tightened. "I don't need philosophy, old man. I need answers."
The caretaker chuckled dryly. "Then let's get to it. You know Alejandra, don't you?"
Steven froze for a moment, his mind flashing back to the previous day—Alejandra's sharp wit, her unrelenting confidence, and her provocative behavior that left him more uncomfortable than he cared to admit.
"Yeah," he said finally, his voice laced with irritation. "We've met."
The caretaker smirked. "And what do you make of her?"
Steven hesitated, then shrugged. "She's... different. Seems to know more about this whole vengeance thing than I do. But she's also a bit... much."
"A bit much?" the caretaker echoed, amused. "You don't say."
Steven rolled his eyes. "Look, what's her deal? She didn't exactly sit me down for a heart-to-heart."
The caretaker's expression grew serious. "Alejandra Jones is like you, but she's been carrying the spirit much longer. Her story isn't a happy one. She was sold as a child, abandoned to a life of suffering and cruelty. The spirit found her on the brink of death and claimed her. Now she's something else—someone else."
Steven frowned, the weight of the caretaker's words settling over him. "And she just... lives out there, alone?"
"In the jungle," the caretaker confirmed. "It's where she feels most at home. She doesn't trust people, and for good reason. But if you want to understand this power, if you want to control it, you'll need her help."
Steven scoffed. "And how do I convince someone like her to help me?"
The caretaker leaned closer, his tone dropping to a near-whisper. "Alejandra doesn't give freely, Steven. She tests. She prods. And she'll break you if she thinks you're unworthy. But if you can earn her respect, she'll show you what the spirit can truly do."
Steven ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "So, what? I just ride out there and hope for the best?"
The caretaker smiled faintly. "You'll need more than hope. You'll need grit, patience, and the willingness to face parts of yourself you've spent your whole life running from. Because Alejandra? She'll see right through you."
Steven nodded slowly, his determination hardening. "Fine. I'll find her."
The caretaker stepped back, his voice taking on a warning tone. "One last thing, Steven—Alejandra isn't just a keeper of vengeance. She is vengeance. Don't mistake her for an ally until she chooses to be one. Until then, she's as much a danger to you as the demons you're hunting."
Steven turned to leave, pausing at the door to glance back. "I'll keep that in mind."
As he mounted his bike, the caretaker called out one final time. "And Steven—don't forget. Vengeance doesn't come cheap. It'll take everything you have... and then some."
The engine roared to life, echoing through the quiet cemetery as Steven sped away, his mind racing with questions—and a growing sense of unease about the encounter that awaited him.
***
The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting a golden glow over the neighborhood as Kristina Geem stood outside Steven's modest home. Her brow furrowed with worry, her thoughts a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Ever since their last encounter, Steven had been acting strangely—distant, secretive, and consumed by something she couldn't understand.
She knocked on the door again, harder this time, her voice trembling as she called out.
"Steven? Are you in there? It's Kristina!"
There was no answer. The house stood silent, its curtains drawn, a stillness that only deepened her unease. She pressed her hand against the door, debating whether to let herself in, when the crunch of footsteps on gravel behind her made her spin around.
Jim Ward, Steven's close friend, stood there, looking equally hesitant. His hands were shoved deep into his jacket pockets, his usually cheerful demeanor replaced by a shadow of unease.
"Jim?" Kristina asked, surprised. "What are you doing here?"
He scratched the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze. "I... I was just passing by. Thought I'd check on him too. Guess he's not here?"
She shook her head. "No, and I'm starting to get worried. He's been acting so... off lately. Like he's hiding something. Do you know anything?"
Jim hesitated, his face conflicted. "Kristina, there's something I need to tell you, but... it's going to sound crazy."
Her heart sank. "What do you mean? What's going on?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice as if the very walls might overhear them. "It's about Steven. He's... not normal."
Kristina blinked, her breath catching in her throat. "What are you talking about? What do you mean, 'not normal'?"
Jim's hands tightened into fists, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and guilt. "The other night, I was at this place. I don't know why—I guess I was just curious. And then I saw this... old man. He looked like he was waiting for someone, but when he looked at me, it was like he froze me in place. I couldn't move, couldn't even speak."
Kristina's eyes widened. Who?"
Jim nodded, his face pale. "I don't know, but he's tall, very tall. He said something about Steven... about him being chosen for something. I didn't understand most of it, but whatever's going on, it's not normal. It's dangerous."
Kristina staggered back a step, her mind racing. Memories of Steven's odd behavior flashed before her eyes—his sudden strength, the flicker of something wild and fiery in his gaze, and the way he seemed to carry an invisible weight on his shoulders.
"Do you think he's in trouble?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jim shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. But whatever it is, it's bigger than both of us. I think... I think he's fighting something, Kristina. Something that's not just human."
Her breath hitched, a cold dread settling in her chest. "Then we need to help him."
Jim looked at her, his expression a mixture of determination and doubt. "If we can. But Kristina... what if he's not the same Steven we used to know?"
She swallowed hard, steeling herself. "Then we find out who—or what—he's become."
The two of them stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their shared fears hanging heavy in the air. Whatever was happening to Steven, they both knew one thing for certain: they were about to step into a world far darker and more dangerous than anything they'd ever imagined.