"A vessel?" Jude repeated, his blood running cold. He looked at the spot where Caligo had stood, a monster made of dead meat and shadows, then down at his own hands. "What does that mean? Is he like me?"
Seraphile didn't answer. She simply turned her back, white suit gleaming in the gloom.
"This location is compromised," she announced. "Bob, initiate the transit protocol. We are convening the Council."
She raised a hand, and the vertical slit of light widened into a doorway.
"Follow," she commanded.
"Wait." Jude stepped forward, fists clenched. "You can't just drop a bomb like 'he's a vessel like you' and then walk away. I need to know what that—"
Seraphile stepped through the light and vanished.
Bob, who had finally stopped retching, hastily wiped his mouth with a handkerchief. "Kid, pro-tip? You don't 'demand' anything from a Seraph. You just hope she doesn't exterminate you on a whim. Now move. The overtime on this portal is killing my budget."
He shoved Jude toward the light. Greta grabbed Fernando by his good arm, hauling the shell-shocked student to his feet.
"Come on, four-eyes," Greta muttered. "Time to meet management."
They stepped through.
The transition felt like being pulled through a straw—a sudden, crushing pressure followed by a blinding white release that left Jude's ears ringing.
They stumbled out onto a floor of polished marble that seemed to stretch into infinity.
Instead of the serene, holy silence Jude expected, they were hit by a wall of noise.
"…TOHU VA-VOHU!"
"…NEPHILIM!"
The Council Room, a massive circular chamber with a ceiling made of swirling galaxies, had descended into chaos. The Council members, entities of burning light and impossible geometry barely contained in human-shaped suits, were screaming at each other in voices that made reality vibrate.
The sound was physical. They were shouting in Ancient Hebrew, syllables resonating with a power that rattled Jude's teeth and made his vision blur at the edges.
"Ah!" Fernando dropped to his knees, hands clamped over his ears. "My head! Make it stop!"
Greta grimaced, burying her face in her shoulder. Even Jude felt like his brain was being put through a blender.
"ATAH ASHAM!" one Council member roared, a being with six wings protruding from an expensive suit, gesturing accusingly at another.
"LO! LO!" the other screamed back, face flickering between human and lion with each syllable.
Seraphile stepped into the center of the room.
She didn't shout. Didn't wave her arms. She simply inhaled deeply, chest expanding, and released a single word that hit the chamber like a gavel strike from God himself.
"HASU!"
The sound was absolute. It slammed into the Council members, extinguishing their voices instantly. The vibrating air stilled. The galaxy ceiling stopped swirling.
Silence crashed back into the room, heavy and terrible.
Seraphile walked past the stunned, trembling Council members and ascended the steps to the central throne; a high-backed chair woven from starlight itself. She sat down, crossing one leg over the other, looking every inch the CEO of the Afterlife.
"The Quarter is not over," Seraphile said, voice calm but carrying an edge that could cut glass. "Composure, please."
She gestured to the floor. "Bob. Presentation."
Bob scrambled forward, pulling a remote clicker from his pocket. A holographic screen materialized in the air, displaying a grainy image of the factory and the charred remains of Caligo's suit.
"As you can see," Seraphile began, addressing the room but looking at Jude, "the threat known as Caligo has been engaged. He was not destroyed. He was merely… disrupted."
Nervous murmurs rippled through the Council.
"He will return," Seraphile continued. "And he will not make the same mistake twice. Caligo is an algorithmic hunter. He learns. He adapts. Today, he underestimated the unexpected variable."
She glanced at Fernando, who was still on his knees, staring at the marble floor like he expected it to swallow him.
"Next time, he will account for the fire." Her gaze swept back to the hologram. "He targeted Jude and Greta specifically. He knew their location. Knew where they were going. The massacre of the Vypers was not random violence, it was a message. An example of what happens to those who associate with our assets."
Jude stepped forward, fists clenched. The adrenaline from the fight had faded, replaced by a cold, creeping dread that settled into his bones.
"So he knows who we are," Jude said, voice echoing in the vast chamber. "He knows where we work, our moves, our habits. And now Fernando's on his list too."
"Correct."
"So what's the plan?" Jude looked up at the throne. "Are we just supposed to go back to work? Wait for him to show up at my dorm? Sit around like targets until he decides to finish the job?"
Seraphile looked down at him. Slowly, the corners of her mouth curved upward.
The smile wasn't comforting. It was the smile of a chess grandmaster who had just baited a trap.
"Not quite, Mr. Miller," Seraphile said softly. "Targets are passive. We are going to be aggressive."
She leaned forward on her throne.
"He believes he is the hunter. We are going to introduce him to the concept of hostile takeover."
She turned her gaze to the two severed gray arms lying on the pristine marble floor, already staining it with black blood.
"Resources are finite," she murmured. "We must repurpose the waste."
She clenched her fist.
CRUNCH.
The severed arms imploded. Dead flesh, bone, and black blood were crushed by invisible pressure, twisting and condensing until they became three small, dense cubes of dark matter hovering in the air, each encased in a faint golden hard-light shell.
Seraphile flicked her wrist, and the three cubes drifted down into Bob's waiting hands.
"Distribution," she ordered.
Bob scuttled over to the trio, handing one device to Jude, one to Greta, and—with visible reluctance—one to Fernando.
"Don't lose it," Bob warned Fernando. "That comes out of your paycheck. Which is currently zero."
Jude turned the device over in his hand. It looked like a minimalist pager made of obsidian, cold and smooth against his palm. "What is this?"
"Proximity sensors," Seraphile explained. "We extracted Caligo's unique bio-signature from the remnants. If that entity comes within a five-mile radius of you, the device will pulse. It buys you time to run, or prepare."
Jude gripped the cold cube. Five miles wasn't much against a creature that moved like smoke, but it was better than walking blind.
"Okay," Jude said, pocketing the device. "But why? Why is he even after us? Who sent him?"
"Who is irrelevant," Seraphile said, leaning back in her throne of starlight. "What matters is what drives him."
She waved her hand, and the holographic screen changed. It displayed a blurry file photo of a soldier in desert camouflage, smiling in front of a tank. He looked human. Alive. The kind of guy who'd buy you a beer and tell war stories that made you laugh.
"The vessel was a man named Marcus Caligo," Seraphile said. "A P.I.T. operative. Codename: 'Sandman.' Kinetic specialist deployed during Operation Desert Storm. He was effective. He was decorated. He was a hero." She paused. "And he died in 1991."
The image shifted to a terrifying woodcut illustration, a demon riding a dragon through clouds of smoke and fire.
"The pilot," Seraphile continued, "is Astaroth."
Greta stiffened beside Jude. "Who?"
"A Crown Prince of Hell." Seraphile's voice carried weight that pressed against Jude's chest. "Astaroth is ambitious. He despises the balance. He despises the Treaty. And he specifically despises the Angelic Council's interference in earthly matters."
She looked at Jude.
"Astaroth is possessing Caligo's corpse," she said. "He has hollowed out a hero and turned him into a suit of armor. We do not know if Astaroth resurrected him via a pact made before death, or if a third party broke the seal on Caligo's grave. But the intent is clear."
"Extermination," Jude guessed.
"Efficiency." Seraphile's correction was cold. "You and Greta are the only active angelic contractors in the world. If he removes you, Philadelphia belongs to him. It is in Astaroth's best interest to liquidate the competition before it can mature."
"Excuse me, Your Grace," Bob interrupted, stepping forward and wringing his hands. "But speaking of liquidation… what about the intern?"
He pointed a shaking finger at Fernando.
"We are discussing Level 5 Classified Intel in front of a civilian! He's not under contract! He's terrified! For all we know, he'll run straight to the press, or worse, to whatever's left of the Vypers!"
Fernando flinched, looking around at the shouting light-beings. "I don't even know if the Vypers exist anymore," he whispered.
Seraphile turned her gaze to Fernando. The weight of it was palpable, like she was placing his soul on a scale and watching the needle.
"Bob raises a valid point regarding information security," she admitted. "However, the young man has a distinct lack of options."
She floated down a step, bringing her face level with Fernando's.
"You have seen the face of Hell," she told him, voice soft but absolute. "You have wielded fire that belongs to one of the strongest pyrokinetic bloodlines in recorded history. You are marked now, Fernando. Caligo knows your face. He knows your power. If you leave this room and attempt to return to your normal life, you will be dead before sunrise."
Fernando went pale. He thought about his apartment. His classes. The quiet, empty life he had built after his mother died.
"There is no 'normal' anymore," Seraphile said. "Betrayal would mean death. Running would mean death. Your only path of survival lies with them."
She gestured to Jude and Greta.
"So I ask you, do you have qualms? Can you stand with them, knowing that the only thing protecting you is your own fire and a team of damaged people held together by spite and circumstance?"
Fernando looked at Jude, exhausted and beaten. He looked at Greta, still holding her shoulder, jaw set against the pain. He thought about the fire that had erupted from his hands, terrifying, powerful, and familiar. Like something his father would have used, if his father had ever stuck around long enough to teach him anything.
He took a deep breath.
"I don't want to die," Fernando whispered. He adjusted his glasses, cracked down the middle, barely holding together. "And I can't just let them get hurt. Not if I can stop it."
He looked up at Seraphile.
"I will do it," Fernando said, voice trembling but certain. "I guess."
Seraphile smiled. It was a terrifying, beautiful thing; like watching a glacier split in half.
"Excellent," she said. "Bob, print him a W-9. Welcome to the payroll, Fernando."
Bob groaned, pulling a crumpled form from his jacket pocket and shoving it into Fernando's hands. "Fill this out. If you claim zero dependents, they take less tax out, but you owe more in April. Don't look at me like that, even the divine have to pay the IRS. It's in the Treaty."
Seraphile rose from her throne. The meeting was over.
"Before you depart," she announced, voice echoing through the galaxy-ceilinged chamber, "understand your new directive. The era of passive defense has ended."
She floated down the steps, white suit glowing.
"Caligo expects you to hide. He expects you to cower in your dorm rooms and basements, waiting for the inevitable. Do not give him that satisfaction. You must turn the hunter into the hunted."
She stopped in front of Jude.
"Jude Miller. You are the asset. The capital investment. Today, you showed resilience, but you lacked initiative. You allowed the enemy to dictate the terms of engagement."
She placed a finger on his chest, right where the Celestial Bow usually materialized.
"Next time, do not wait for the arrow to fly," she commanded. "Find him. Corner him. And return that demon to the pit from which it crawled. Understood?"
"Got it." Jude straightened his spine. "Hunt the hunter."
Seraphile nodded once, then turned to Fernando. The student was clutching his W-9 like a shield.
"Fernando. You are a volatile variable. Your fire is potent but untrained. Do not let fear extinguish it, and do not let rage consume it. If you lose control, you become a liability." Her eyes hardened. "And we liquidate liabilities."
Fernando gulped. "Right. Controlled burn. Got it."
Finally, she turned to Greta.
The air in the room grew colder. Bob took a nervous step back. The Council members, still murmuring in the background, fell silent. They watched with undisguised contempt.
"Greta," Seraphile said. Her voice lost its corporate polish, becoming something sharper. Harder.
Greta didn't flinch. She met the Seraph's gaze, jaw set, still holding her shoulder.
"Your highness," Greta muttered, the title tasting like ash.
"The Council voted on your termination again this morning," Seraphile stated. "The vote was nearly unanimous. You are viewed as a stain on this realm. A chaotic element that invites disaster."
Greta looked down at her boots. "Tell me something I don't know."
"However." Seraphile paused. "I observed your bio-metrics during the encounter. You were in pain. You were facing death. And yet, your blood remained free of illicit toxins. You accepted the Angelic Remedy, but you did not seek your own chemical courage."
She leaned in close, golden eyes narrowing.
"Your sobriety has been noted," she whispered. "It is the only reason you are leaving this room breathing. Do not make me regret my leniency. If you relapse, the demons will not have to kill you. I will do it myself."
Greta swallowed hard. She nodded. "Right."
Seraphile straightened and waved her hand at empty air.
"Dismissed."
Bob scrambled to click his remote. The vertical slit of white light tore open again, revealing the gritty, trash-strewn pavement of a Philadelphia alleyway.
"Alright, chop-chop!" Bob shouted, ushering them toward the portal. "Transit window closes in thirty seconds! And Jude, remember about your probation! No overtime approved for the torture session!"
Jude, Greta, and Fernando stepped through the light.
The crushing pressure returned, squeezing air from their lungs, followed by the jarring return of gravity and the smell of garbage.
They stumbled out onto wet asphalt in an alley behind a CVS in Center City. The portal snapped shut behind them with a sound like a whip crack, leaving them in the dim orange glow of streetlights and the distant hum of traffic.
The silence of the city felt deafening after the Council's chaos.
Jude took a deep breath. The cold, dirty air filled his lungs, tasting like exhaust and trash and something rotting in a nearby dumpster. But it tasted real.
"Okay," Jude exhaled, rubbing his face with both hands. "We're back. We're alive. And we have a job to do."
He looked at the small black cube in his hand.
"Seraphile's right," Fernando said, voice hardening. "We can't wait for him to jump us again. We need to hit first." He looked at Jude. "When do we move?"
"Tonight?" Greta cracked her neck. "I'm already pissed off. Might as well use the adrenaline."
"We're exhausted," Jude countered. "Fernando can barely stand, and you're running on magic painkillers that are going to wear off within the hour. We need rest. We hit him Friday."
He froze.
"Wait," Jude said, eyes going wide. "Not Friday. We can't do Friday."
Greta raised an eyebrow. "Why? Midterm?"
"No." Jude looked genuinely pained. "I have a date. With Natalia. At The Tops."
Greta stared at him. She looked at the blood on her boots. She looked at the burnt hole in Fernando's sweater. Then she looked back at Jude.
"You're joking." Her voice was flat. "We're being hunted by a demon wearing a dead soldier's corpse, possessed by a Prince of Hell, and you're worried about losing your reservation for a hundred-dollar steak?"
"It took forever to get that table!" Jude threw his hands up. "And it's vital for my mental health! I need one night where I'm not getting strangled by something from the underworld!"
Fernando, still leaning against the brick wall for support, let out a small, tired smile.
"That is nice, Jude," Fernando said softly. "Courtship is important. You should go."
Greta rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "Fine. Loverboy gets his night off. We hunt Thursday. We find him, we jump him, we send him back to Hell." She looked between them. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," Jude said.
"Agreed," Fernando whispered.
They stood there in the alley for a moment. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind the awkward, disjointed reality of three people who had nothing in common except trauma and a shared near-death experience.
"So," Jude said, shifting his weight. "I guess we just… go home? Get some sleep?"
"Yeah." Greta grunted. "I need a shower and about twelve hours of unconsciousness."
They started to drift apart. Fernando pushed himself off the wall, clutching his W-9 form to his chest like a security blanket. He turned toward the street, ready to walk back to whatever empty apartment waited for him.
BZZZZT. BZZZZT.
Jude's phone vibrated. A second later, Greta's chimed.
They both pulled them out.
Natalia:Hey! Gang is at my place. Ordered pizza and we're playing Mario Kart. Come thru if you're not busy doing whatever you do lol
Jude looked at the screen. The normalcy of it—pizza, Mario Kart, friends—felt like a lifeline thrown into dark water.
He looked up at Greta. She was staring at her screen with a strange expression. Usually she blew off these invitations without a second thought. But tonight, after staring down Caligo and Seraphile, after everything… she looked like she didn't want to be alone.
"I'm going," Greta muttered. "Free pizza."
"Me too," Jude said.
They both turned to look at Fernando.
The student was standing at the mouth of the alley, looking back at them with a polite, awkward wave.
"Goodnight, guys," Fernando said. "I will see you tomorrow. For the hunting."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," Jude called out.
Fernando stopped. "Yes?"
"You should come. To Natalia's. We're just hanging out. There's pizza."
Fernando blinked. He looked down at his ruined sweater, then back at Jude. A look of panic crossed his face, social anxiety hitting harder than the demon had.
"Oh." Fernando shook his head rapidly. "No, no. Thank you, Jude. That is very kind. But I don't want to intrude. I am a stranger to your friends. It would be weird. I will just go home."
He offered a weak, apologetic smile and took another step away.
"Hey! Four-Eyes!"
Greta's voice barked down the alley.
Fernando froze. Turned around. Greta was glaring at him, hands on her hips.
"You think you get to incinerate a factory with us and then just go home?" Greta snapped. "You're on the payroll now, dipshit. That means you're part of the team. And the team is eating pizza."
Fernando stared at her. "I… I am?"
"Yes." Greta stalked over and grabbed him by the sleeve of his good arm. "You're a weird little fucker, but you're our weird little fucker now. Stop being a bitch and get in the Uber."
She tugged him forward.
Fernando stumbled a few steps, then looked at Jude. Jude gave him a nod and a genuine grin.
"Come on, man," Jude said. "I'll introduce you. Just… don't mention the fire. Or the demon."
Fernando looked between them. His eyes, behind the cracked lenses, went suddenly glassy. His chin wobbled. For the first time all night, the crushing loneliness of the last few years—his mother passing, his absent father, his empty apartment where no one called or texted or asked if he was okay—seemed to lift just an inch.
He sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes with his soot-stained sleeve.
"Okay," Fernando choked out, voice thick. "Okay. I like Mario Kart."
"Great," Greta muttered, hiding a small smirk as she led them out of the alley. "I call Yoshi. If anyone picks Yoshi, I'm putting them through a wall."