He woke up without an alarm for the first time in months. The purple morning light entered softly through the high windows, painting the room with warm tones. No buzzing from emergency drones, no call from the CUMR, no throbbing headache. Just the welcoming silence of the house and the distant smell of synthetic coffee and fresh bread coming from the kitchen. He lay there for a moment, feeling the light weight of the comforter over his body. For the first time in a long time, there was no weight on his chest. The CUMR had given him two full weeks off after the "technical success" of Operation Rift 16. Fifteen whole days. No missions, no portals, no reports. Just home. And he intended to enjoy every second.
In the living room, the girls were already awake. Sylara was lying on her stomach on the couch, gesturing dramatically while telling an exaggerated story from school: — …and then the teacher said that my light seal was the prettiest in the class! I said I learned it from mom, but she didn't believe me. She said she had studied with mom and that she wasn't that talented.
Elyndra, sitting on Brennan's lap as soon as he sat down next to them, laughed with her mouth full of cookie, her little eyes shining. — Daddy, you promised you would stay longer — she murmured, resting her little head on his chest. — You promised.
Brennan felt a sweet tightness in his chest. He wrapped his arms around his youngest daughter and kissed the top of her head. — I promised, little one. And I'm here. No rush to go anywhere.
Sylara threw herself against him too, making the three of them fall into a pile of laughter and hugs on the couch. For almost half an hour, the world was reduced to this: tickling, absurd stories, Elyndra's little doll "fighting" against Brennan's arm as if it were a dragon.
Lirael watched from the kitchen doorway, a soft and tired smile on her face. When Brennan looked at her, she simply extended her hand, calling him without words.
They cooked lunch together. Nothing fancy — just stew and hot bread —, but the moment was intimate. Lirael stirred the pot while Brennan chopped the roots beside her. Every now and then she leaned her shoulder against his, as if to make sure he was really there.
At night, after the girls had fallen asleep, the two sat on the couch, the lights low. Lirael ran her fingers across his face, tracing the line of his jaw with affection. — You're really home — she murmured, her voice low and full of relief. — Not just your body. Your head too. I missed this.
Brennan closed his eyes, leaning his face against her hand. — Me too — he replied, almost whispering. — I think the Rift finally gave me some time.
He believed it. Deeply. The worst was over. The portal had been closed. The family was whole. For the first time in years, the future seemed like something he could hold in his own hands without fear of it slipping away.
It was late at night. The girls had been asleep for hours. Lirael had gone to bed a little earlier, exhausted after days of mixed tension and relief. Brennan, however, couldn't sleep.
He went out to the apartment balcony, carefully closing the glass door behind him so as not to wake anyone. The cold air of Neo-Qy'thalor enveloped him. Down below, the city glowed: gothic towers intertwined with neon panels, drones tracing silent routes in the purple sky, enchanted ivy pulsing softly between the cables.
Brennan rested his forearms on the railing and took a deep breath. For the first time in a long time, he felt peace. A fragile relief, but real.
Maybe the Rift will finally give me some time, he thought again, smiling slightly to himself.
It was then that the voice appeared. Calm. Clear. Almost gentle, as if someone was speaking right beside him, with sincere concern. "It's still inside you. I know someone who can take it out."
Brennan froze. His entire body went rigid. He turned his head sharply to the side, searching for the source of the voice. There was no one on the balcony. No one in the sky. Just the cold wind and the distant lights of the city.
The voice did not return.
He stayed there, heart racing, staring into the void. He ran his hand over his face, trying to shake off the feeling. Stress, he thought. Just stress. The implants, the exhaustion, the mission… it's normal to hear things after everything that happened.
He took another deep breath, forcing the air into his lungs.
He wouldn't tell anyone. Not Lirael, not Ada. He didn't want to worry them. Not now that things finally seemed to be returning to normal.
He stayed a few more minutes on the balcony, looking at the city in silence, until the cold started to bother him.
Then he went back inside, closed the glass door, and lay down next to Lirael, trying to ignore the slight tremor he still felt in his hands.
In the following days, the time off continued. Brennan played with his daughters, helped Lirael in the kitchen, slept in later and woke up without the usual weight of missions. But something inside him was changing, slowly, like a crack silently opening in the wall.
The anger came first. Without reason. Without warning. A delivery drone passed too low by the balcony and the noise made him clench his teeth hard.
When Elyndra knocked over the glass of juice on the table — something that happened almost every day —, he felt a hot wave rise in his chest. He had to hold himself back from speaking louder than necessary. — Careful, little one — he said, forcing a smile. But his voice came out more serious than he intended.
Sylara, who was telling an animated story about school, stopped mid-sentence when she noticed the tone. Brennan noticed and immediately softened: — Sorry, Sy. Keep going… I like that part.
He tried to hide everything. He forced smiles. He said he was "just tired." When Lirael asked if he wanted to talk, he answered with a kiss on her forehead and changed the subject.
The anxiety came next, more treacherous. Sometimes, in the middle of a conversation, his heart would race for no reason. He felt a pressure in his chest, as if someone was watching him from a dark corner of the room. He looked over his shoulder and there was nothing. Just the soft glow of the protection runes on the walls.
One night, while Lirael slept beside him, Brennan stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. He clenched his fists so hard that his nails marked the palms of his hands. He couldn't explain what he was feeling. It was as if something inside him was waking up, stretching, testing the chains.
He didn't tell anyone.
Lirael, however, noticed. She knew him better than anyone. She noticed the distant look when he thought no one was watching. She saw the stiffness in his shoulders when he picked up Elyndra. She observed the way he clenched his fists for no reason, as if he were holding something invisible.
One afternoon, while the girls were playing in the bedroom, Lirael approached him in the kitchen. She touched his arm with affection and asked softly: — Love… are you sure everything is okay? You seem… distant again.
Brennan turned his face and smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. — Just tired, Lirael. The mission is still in my head. It'll pass.
She looked at him for another second, her violet eyes full of silent concern. She ran her hand across his face, as she always did, and said: — No, Brennan — her voice low, but firm. — You're not "just tired." I know you. I know every expression of yours. I see when you clench your fists for no reason, when your gaze becomes distant even while the girls are laughing. You're hiding something from me. And the worst… is that you're hiding it from yourself too.
Brennan felt his chest tighten. He tried to keep his tone light, but his voice came out more defensive than he intended. — Lirael, please… it's nothing. The mission was heavy and the brain treatment too, that's all. I don't want to worry you with nonsense.
— Nonsense? — She took a step closer, her hand still touching his face, but now with more pressure, as if she wanted to anchor him there. — I am your wife. I carry your daughters in my arms when you're not here. I sleep beside you every night. And you tell me it's nothing? You're not trusting me, Brennan. That hurts more than anything you might be hiding.
He looked away, feeling the guilt rise like bile. — I trust you. I just… don't want to bring the mission problems into the house. The girls are happy. I'm here. I don't want to ruin this.
Lirael remained silent for a moment. Her fingers slid from his face to his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat. — You already ruined it when you decided to carry this alone — she murmured, her voice choked, but without anger. — I am not fragile, Brennan. I can take it. What I can't take is seeing you pulling away from me and pretending everything is fine.
Brennan swallowed hard. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to break down right there and say that he felt an anger that wasn't his, that sometimes he thought something was watching him, that he was afraid of himself. But the words wouldn't come out. — There's nothing wrong — he insisted, forcing a smile that didn't convince even himself. — I promise. I just need some time to process everything that happened. Tomorrow I'll be better.
Lirael stared at him for a few more seconds, her eyes shining with tears she didn't let fall. Finally, she removed her hand from his chest and took a step back. — Okay — she said softly, but the tone carried a deep sadness. — If that's what you want… I won't force it. But know that I'm here. I always have been.
She turned and went back to the kitchen, her shoulders slightly hunched.
Brennan stood still, his chest tight, feeling that he had just lied to the person he loved most in the world.
He didn't want to worry her. He didn't want his daughters to feel that something was wrong.
So he continued smiling, playing, helping around the house… while inside, the nameless anger and anxiety grew slowly, like a shadow lengthening at the end of the day.
And the voice that had spoken to him on the balcony did not return.
It was the next night. Brennan was coming back from the kitchen with a glass of water for Elyndra, who had asked for it. The building was silent, only the low hum of the mana reactors and the distant laughter of the girls coming from the living room.
Then the air cracked. It wasn't a loud sound. It was a dry tear, like fabric being ripped by claws. A small, irregular and violent rift suddenly opened in the wall of the corridor that led to the apartments on that floor, less than five meters from their apartment door. Black light leaked through the opening, accompanied by a strong smell of sulfur and burnt metal.
Brennan stopped mid-step. He felt the same cold and fear that only appeared when he was in front of a mission portal. He decided to go to the front door and opened it. — What…?
From the unstable portal, smaller demons began to emerge — thin creatures, black skin cracked by pulsing yellow light veins, long claws and multiple eyes that gleamed with hunger.
They spread out running in all directions, hungry to cause as much damage as possible in the place, scratching walls, going up and down stairs to other floors and letting out short, guttural howls.
One of them started running directly toward Brennan, its claws scraping the floor. But it stopped abruptly a few meters from him. The creature tilted its head, looking him in the eyes for a long and disturbing second — as if it recognized something. Then, without making a sound, it turned and went in another direction.
Brennan felt an impact right after. It wasn't physical. It was as if something cold and hungry had thrust its hand inside his chest and grabbed his spine. His muscles locked. His vision flickered. A silent roar filled his mind.
He felt control slip away. — No… — he murmured, his voice already failing.
His fingers released the glass. He heard the glass shatter on the floor, but the sound seemed to come from very far away.
The demon didn't ask for permission. It simply took over.
Brennan felt his own consciousness being pushed to the back of his mind, as if someone had thrown him into the backseat of his own body. He could still see everything. He could still feel everything. But he no longer commanded anything.
His arms moved on their own. His feet took a step forward, then another, with a cold and violent precision that was not his.
Inside his head, Brennan was screaming. What the fuck is this? No! Stop! Get out of me!
But the body didn't obey.
In the corridor, the rift pulsed, spitting out more demons. And Brennan's body, now moved by something ancient and hungry, slowly turned toward the apartment door.
In the living room, the cheerful voices of Sylara and Elyndra still echoed. — Daddy? — called Elyndra, innocently. — Where's my water?
Lirael stopped reading her book, her body going rigid. — Brennan… — she called, her voice low and uncertain. — Do you hear that?
From the apartment door came a guttural, long and irregular sound — a howl that didn't seem to come from a human throat. — Are those… howls? — she murmured, frowning. — Are there loose dogs in the hallway?
She took a step toward the door, the book still in her hand, her maternal instinct already putting her on alert.
Brennan — who was already desperate without knowing what to do — felt absolute terror take over his soul.
He was in there. Watching. And he could do nothing to stop what was about to happen.
Brennan watched everything from inside his own mind. It was like being trapped behind thick glass, screaming without anyone hearing. His body moved on its own, with a cold and violent precision that was not his. He felt every muscle, every breath, every heartbeat — but he commanded nothing.
No! Get out of me! Please, get out of me!
The demon was already inside the apartment. Lirael saw the portal and the demons briefly before Brennan violently closed the door. Her violet eyes widened in terror as she saw her husband standing at the entrance, his face twisted in an expression that was not his. — Brennan…? — Her voice failed.
He advanced.
Lirael reacted on instinct. She raised her hands and cast a golden containment seal, a bright barrier that formed between him and the girls. — Girls, behind me! — she shouted, her voice trembling but firm.
Sylara and Elyndra huddled behind their mother, their little eyes full of confusion and fear. — Daddy…? — whispered Sylara, her voice small.
Brennan's body slammed against the barrier. The seal cracked but held. Lirael cast another spell, trying to bind his arms. — It's you! I know it's you! — she shouted, tears already streaming down her face. — Fight it, Brennan! Fight! You're stronger than this!
She took the first blow. His fist, wrapped in corrupted mana and black veins, pierced the barrier and hit her shoulder. Lirael staggered, hot blood running down her arm, but she didn't retreat. She continued casting seals, one after another, trying to protect the girls while trying to reach the man she loved. — Daddy, stop! — shouted Sylara, crying. — Daddy, why are you angry? Don't do this!
Elyndra just sobbed, clinging to her mother's leg. — Daddy… no… please…
Brennan screamed from within, a silent and desperate roar that tore at his soul. Not them! Anything but them! Lirael! Sylara! Elyndra!
But the body didn't stop.
Lirael was bleeding, her face pale from pain and effort, but she kept fighting. She was crying openly now, blood dripping from her wounded shoulder. — I love you… — she whispered between one spell and another, her voice broken. — Come back to me… please, come back…
A blow escaped. Lirael's barrier failed for a fraction of a second. Brennan's hand, charged with black energy, went straight through and hit Sylara square in the chest.
The girl flew backward with a short, sharp scream, hitting the wall. The impact was brutal. She slid to the floor, coughing blood, her big eyes full of terror and incomprehension. — Sylara! — shouted Lirael, her voice breaking into a lament.
She saw the serious wound. She saw the blood flowing too fast. She saw her eldest daughter's confused look — the look of someone who didn't understand why her father had done that.
Lirael understood in that instant that something worse was about to happen. She couldn't win this fight. Not like this.
Lirael didn't think. She simply acted.
With her bloody and trembling hand, she raised her left arm and broke the small red crystal embedded in the bracelet she always wore. The emergency artifact — kept for the worst of the worst moments — reacted immediately.
An intense golden light exploded around her. The air tore with a crystalline sound, forming a narrow and unstable escape portal, a bright vortex that led directly to the headquarters of the mages of Qy'thalor. — Girls, with me! — she shouted.
She grabbed Elyndra with one arm, pressing her youngest daughter against her chest. With the other arm, she dragged Sylara, who was semi-conscious, her wounded chest barely able to breathe, her eyes half-open in shock and confusion. — Mommy… it hurts… — whispered Sylara, her voice weak. — I know, my love… hold on… mommy is going to protect you… — Lirael cried openly, her tears mixing with the blood that flowed from her own wounds.
Brennan's body — still possessed — took a step forward, his eyes completely black with pulsing yellow fire veins fixed on them. His hand rose again, ready for another blow.
Lirael looked at him one last time. Her violet eyes met his — or what was left of him. There was pain there. Deep love. And a silent, heart-wrenching farewell. — I love you… — she whispered, her voice broken, almost inaudible. — I will come back to help you.
The portal pulsed.
With one last effort, Lirael threw herself into the golden vortex, dragging her daughters with her. The portal closed behind them with a final snap, leaving only a trail of golden sparks that dissipated into the air.
Brennan — trapped inside his own body — watched everything. And the silent scream inside his mind turned into something broken, irreparable.
The apartment fell silent. Only the sound of the heavy breathing of Brennan's possessed body echoed in the destroyed living room.
He walked out the front door, slowly, as if the demon was still testing the body it had taken.
From the neighboring apartment, the door suddenly opened. A young couple — around 25 years old, newlyweds who had moved into the building a few months ago — appeared in the corridor. The woman was holding a small emergency bag, the man had his eyes wide with panic. — Mr. Brennan! — exclaimed the young man, recognizing him immediately. — It's demons, isn't it? You work at the CUMR… please, help us get out of here! There's something in the hallway, we heard howls…
Brennan slowly turned his face toward them. His eyes were completely black, crossed by pulsing yellow fire veins. There was nothing left of the man who politely greeted them in the elevator.
Without saying a word, he raised his right hand, his fingers stretched like the tip of a spear. With a quick and brutal movement, he pierced the young man's chest and continued, also piercing the body of the wife behind him.
The two were impaled at the same time. The young man widened his eyes in shock and pain, his mouth opening without being able to make a sound. The woman let out a short moan, her eyes full of astonishment and incomprehension as life drained from them.
Brennan pulled his hand back, with no expression on his face.
The couple collapsed to the floor, one on top of the other, their eyes still open, fixed on the man who until yesterday was just the kind neighbor from apartment 147.
Suddenly, the sound of security drones echoed through the corridor. Red lights flashed on the walls. Brennan heard the heavy sound of boots climbing the stairs — a CUMR tactical response team shouting military commands.
The possessed body did not react with urgency. It simply turned calmly and walked back into the apartment.
It stood still for a few seconds, as if the demon inside it hesitated, processing an escape.
Then, without a second's pause, Brennan's possessed body ran to the nearest window. It broke the glass with its shoulder and jumped.
The cutting night wind enveloped him as he fell from several floors. The body did not scream. It felt no fear. The demonic possession absorbed the impact with supernatural elasticity: the legs bent like springs, the knees absorbing the force of the fall without a single bone broken. He landed crouched in the middle of the street, a thin crater forming in the cracked asphalt.
Then he ran. Uncontrolled. Animalistic. As if the demon inside him was fleeing from something even it didn't understand.
The streets of Neo-Qy'thalor passed in blurs of neon and black stone. He dodged drones, jumped over parked cars, ignored the few pedestrians who screamed when they saw him.
Lirael's and the girls' blood still stained his hands, and Brennan grew more and more desperate remembering the state of his daughter.
Soon the residential streets gave way to abandoned industrial zones — old factories built by the Terrans, now covered in black ivy and faded runes, rusty towers and broken neon blinking weakly in the dark.
The body kept running, more and more erratic. The movements began to fail. The muscles trembled. The demonic possession was overloading the human body it had taken.
Brennan, trapped inside, felt everything: the brutal fatigue, the growing pain, the demon's mind beginning to dissolve like smoke.
Until it couldn't take it anymore.
The body tripped over a pile of rubble, fell to its knees and then face down in a deserted courtyard between two ruined factories. Broken neon blinked above him in red and purple tones, illuminating the debris and the dried blood on his clothes.
The possession broke.
Brennan passed out, in the dark, with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and the echo of his family's screams still inside his head.