I'd heard of it. Church-controlled. Only a few kilometers away.
I carried her the entire distance.
Unnoticed by both of them—
Father Malcolm lowered the binoculars.
"Is it wise to let them meet?" he asked quietly.
The Bishop kept his eyes on the empty park.
"He has to grow," he said. "Loss is the only thing that tempers power."
Malcolm hesitated.
"And if something happens?"
The Bishop's expression didn't change.
"If we are not there," he said, "and something like this occurs again… there will be no one left to stop him from falling into the dark."
The binoculars lowered.
And far away, the system observed—
Patient.
Waiting.
And far away, the system observed—
Patient.
Waiting.
Kyle reached the orphanage gate just as the iron doors opened.
A nun stood outside, hands clasped tightly, worry etched deep into her face. Her eyes flicked first to Mona—small and fragile in Kyle's arms—then to him.
Fear, unspoken.
Why would the Bishop allow this? she thought.
Letting Mona wander… letting her meet this thing—this boy.
What if something happens to her? She's already so sick. God, protect the child.
Kyle stopped a respectful distance away.
The nun stepped forward at last, forcing calm into her voice.
"Her illness must have flared again," she said softly, more to herself than him. "I keep telling her not to go far."
She looked up at Kyle.
"Since you're here… could you take her to the infirmary?"
Kyle nodded without a word.
Inside, the orphanage smelled of soap and old wood. Children paused mid-play to stare at him—wide-eyed, whispering as he passed. He ignored the looks and laid Mona gently onto a clean bed in the infirmary, adjusting the blanket so it didn't press against her too tightly.
"She'll rest now," the nun said.
"Sister Jessica," she added, offering a small smile. "You look exhausted. Please—stay for breakfast with the children."
Kyle opened his mouth to refuse.
His stomach betrayed him.
He gave an awkward smile and nodded.
The dining hall buzzed with quiet energy. Children gathered around him, curious, unafraid in the way only children could be.
"Are you Sister Mona's boyfriend?" one asked bluntly.
Another scowled. "If you hurt her, I'll come after you."
Kyle chuckled softly.
"No. I'm not her boyfriend. I just found her in the park. She felt weak, so I brought her home. Now—eat your breakfast."
That seemed to satisfy them.
One child stared at him longer than the others.
"Brother," he said quietly, "you look strong. Can you protect us from monsters?"
Kyle smiled gently.
"Yes," he said. "I'm very strong. Monsters fear me."
The children exchanged glances.
"But there are many monsters," another said. "Different kinds."
Kyle's smile didn't fade.
"Tell me about them."
The words came hesitantly at first. Then all at once.
Monsters that hurt.
Monsters that locked doors.
Monsters that fed poison and laughter.
Monsters that used cages, chains, and fists.
Names weren't spoken. They didn't need to be.
The room grew quiet.
Kyle's expression didn't change—but something inside him went still. Cold. Focused.
He rose slowly from his seat and knelt so he was eye-level with them.
"From now on," he said calmly, "no monster will harm you."
The children believed him.
Sister Jessica had heard everything.
She stood frozen for a moment, a chill crawling up her spine. When she looked at Kyle, his eyes felt… endless. Like staring into depth without bottom.
She clapped her hands sharply.
"Alright, breakfast is over. Go play now."
The children scattered obediently.
She turned back to Kyle, forcing a smile.
"I'm sorry for what you heard. You know… crime is everywhere. Gangs. Trafficking. But the police are handling it."
Kyle only smiled.
"Thank you for the meal," he said politely.
He stepped outside.
The sun felt wrong on his skin.
His mood lifted—not with relief, not with anger—
With purpose.
And far away, unseen—
The system recorded a shift.
Moral vector locked.
Target selection refining.
Shadow protocol: imminent.
Kyle walked on.
He whispered, barely moving his lips,"Initiate."
A pause.
"It's time monsters feel another monster."
And somewhere in the city, predators felt a pressure behind their thoughts—a tension without cause—a sense that something had finally noticed them.
Kyle reached the cathedral and stopped before the statue.
He looked up at Jesus—not pleading, not angry.
"I will do your job," he said quietly."System. Location. Bring me the targets."
The system answered.
In a warehouse .The whole room was thick with smoke. Soft music played in the background as the gangsters drank, laughed, and joked among themselves. Their laughter echoed off the walls—careless, cruel.
In one corner, several captives were tied up. Some were bruised and shaking, others stared blankly, too frightened to cry. A few sobbed quietly.
One of the minions stepped closer, grinning in a way that made the air feel colder."Can't we use at least one of them?" he said mockingly. "They're good enough."
The boss chuckled, the cigar glowing between his fingers."Not these," he said. "They're worth more alive. They'll clear our debt to the Don. After that…" He shrugged. "You'll have all the fun you want."
The captives looked up in horror.
One of the women suddenly screamed, her voice breaking through the room."God won't forgive you," she cried. "You monsters!"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then the room exploded with laughter.