Clara slipped her phone back into her pocket.
"They'll come," she said under her breath. "Not fast—but they will."
A pressure settled in the air.
Not sound.
Not movement.
Just weight.
Simon frowned. "Why do I feel like we just walked onto someone else's property?"
A voice answered from behind them.
"Because you did."
They turned.
Five robed figures stood in a loose arc, their presence bending the air around them. No footsteps. No warning.
Sam stepped forward instinctively. "Hey—back off."
One of the figures raised a hand.
Symbols flared faintly in the air—too fast to read.
The world tilted.
Simon's legs went numb first. He barely had time to curse before the ground rushed up to meet him.
Sam tried to grab Iris—
His fingers missed.
Clara felt it next. A crushing pressure behind her eyes, like being pulled underwater. Her fire fizzled out before it could form.
She collapsed.
Iris gasped.
Something slammed shut inside her—harder, deeper than sleep. Her thoughts scattered, her vision darkened.
She hit the ground last.
Few Moments Later
Pain woke her.
Sharp. Deep. Wrong.
Iris sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it.
It felt like something inside her was being twisted open, like a lock forced the wrong way.
She groaned.
The sound echoed.
Simon's eyes fluttered open. "Iris…?"
Sam rolled onto his back, disoriented. "What—what happened?"
Clara pushed herself up on one elbow, face pale. "We are… tied up." noticing the ropes cutting against her wrist with symbols on it.
Iris curled inward, clutching her chest.
"It hurts," she whispered, voice breaking.
"It won't stop."
From somewhere ahead, stone scraped against stone.
A low chant bled through the walls.
Clara's eyes widened as she felt it.
"Oh no," she breathed.
"They're already doing it."
The pain inside Iris spiked—responding to something else nearby.
Something old.
Something listening.
The chanting reached its final cadence.
Deep beneath the earth, the summoning circle ignited.
Not with fire—but with pressure.
The symbols carved into the stone floor began to glow a sickly crimson, veins of light crawling through grooves filled with dried blood and ash. The air inside the circle thickened, warping like heated glass.
Then it opened.
Not a tear.
A window.
Reality folded inward at the center of the circle, revealing something behind it—an impossible depth, layered darkness moving like a breathing organism.
Something pressed against the threshold.
A claw emerged first.
Not fully—only halfway, as if an invisible wall resisted it. Blackened skin traced with dull gold sigils scraped against the edge of the circle, producing a sound like metal dragged over bone.
A face followed.
Half-formed.
Too many teeth.
Eyes that burned with appetite, not rage.
The demon peeking through the circle.
It leaned forward, peering through the circle like a predator studying prey through glass.
Its voice rolled out of the opening—thick, resonant, amused.
"State your business."
The robed figures dropped to their knees.
"We call upon the Aroma of the Fifth Circle of Hell," one said, voice shaking.
"Agent of Gluttony.
We offer chaos and soul-echo in exchange for answers."
The demon inhaled.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"I taste it," it said.
"Messy. Inefficient. Human."
A low chuckle echoed from the circle.
"Very well. Ask."
One of the robed figures stepped forward.
"Since last year… something changed.
We felt a boundary—then nothing.
The Veil vanished."
The demon tilted its head slightly.
"Vanished?"
"No."
Its smile widened.
"An angel panicked."
The chamber stiffened.
"An angel interfered," the demon continued.
"Stripped the Veil of its physical anchor.
What you felt before was structure.
What remains is abstraction."
Another robed figure spoke, urgency breaking through fear.
"There was a breach, then?"
"Yes," the demon replied easily.
"Someone crossed."
A pause.
"Someone who should not have survived it."
The robed figures exchanged glances.
"Who?" one asked.
"Where is he now?"
The demon's expression darkened—not anger, but amusement sharpened into warning.
"You lack the capacity to understand that answer."
It leaned closer to the edge of the circle, pressure increasing, symbols flaring brighter as the summoning strained to hold.
"And you lack the price required for more."
The glow began to dim.
"Our business is concluded."
The circle collapsed inward.
The window shut.
Silence slammed into the chamber.
The robed figures remained kneeling, breathing hard.
They had their answer.
And something far worse.
Meanwhile — Another Chamber
Stone.
Cold.
Ropes cutting into wrists.
Iris gasped awake.
Pain exploded through her chest—raw, invasive, like something was forcing a door open from the inside.
She screamed.
Not loudly.
Brokenly.
Simon's head snapped up. "Iris—?"
Clara froze the moment she felt it.
Her face drained of color.
"This—" she whispered.
"This isn't part of the ritual."
Sam strained against his bindings. "What's happening to her?!"
The instant the summoning circle collapsed—
Iris screamed.
Not from fear.
From rupture.
Her body arched violently against the restraints, ropes digging into flesh as something inside her pushed back. The air around her thickened, vibrating with a low, animal resonance.
"Something's wrong—!" Sam shouted.
Too late.
Iris's chest convulsed.
Skin split.
Not cleanly—but like wet fabric torn from the inside.
Blood sprayed across the stone floor as her ribcage expanded, bones grinding, reshaping under impossible pressure. Her spine snapped backward with a sound that made Clara gag, vertebrae elongating, stacking, forcing her posture upright despite the bindings.
"Iris—IRIS!" Simon yelled, pulling against his ropes until his wrists bled.
Grey fur erupted through her skin in violent patches, ripping through muscle and flesh, spreading fast—too fast—coating her arms, her shoulders, her back like an infection made of hair and rage.
Her fingers curled.
Then broke.
Bones extended outward, fingers fusing, nails blackening and thickening as claws forced their way out, tearing through the tips of her hands. She howled—no longer a human sound, but not fully animal either.
Her jaw began to move.
Unhinging.
Stretching forward as her skull reshaped itself with sickening cracks. Teeth pushed up through her gums, rows of them, longer and sharper than human anatomy allowed. Blood poured from her mouth as her face elongated, nose flattening, senses igniting all at once.
Her eyes—
Her eyes snapped open.
Glowing blue.
Not feral.
Aware.
Too aware.
The ropes around her arms snapped like thread as her shoulders widened, muscle layering over muscle, mass surging outward. Her clothes shredded instantly, falling away in strips as the transformation completed itself in brutal increments.
Within seconds—
There was no Iris.
A wolf stood where she had been.
Towering.
Grey-furred.
Chest heaving.
Breath steaming in the cold chamber.
A monster born not of magic—but of something that had been waiting.
The creature lifted its head slowly.
Blue eyes locked onto the others.
Not hunting.
Not confused.
Recognizing.
Clara whispered, voice shaking, hollow with dread.
"…the demon's gone."
The wolf's ears twitched.
Its claws scraped against stone as it took its first step forward.
And somewhere deep within that glowing gaze—
Something human was still screaming.