blueteamnovel Chapter 20: When the Void Awakens
Chapter 20: When the Void Awakens
The night had fallen over the lookout like a merciless shroud, covering the city with its breath of ash and cold wind. The distant lights flickered at the edge of the horizon, indifferent to their own existence, like a swarm of fireflies trapped in a jar far too large. Sebastián remained seated, back straight, on the cracked asphalt, with his legs crossed and eyes half-closed. His breathing was deep, steady, a rhythm so controlled that anyone would have sworn he was asleep. But there was no sleep in him, no space for rest. Inside his body, the Inverted Origin Core throbbed with a grave pulse, almost like a muffled drum. After hours of absorbing scattered fragments of Qi from the air, he had managed to calm, at least in part, his inhuman hunger. It was not satiety: only a fragile balance, like a chained beast that agrees to rest for a while before devouring everything once more.Sebastián slowly opened his eyes.
The night revealed itself before him like an ocean of living shadows.
He could perceive every sound:
the crack of peeling paint on the lookout,
the distant hum of electric transformers,
the flight of a bat above his head,
and even the whispers of the city that slept without knowing that someone like him still breathed.
He felt no fear.
He felt no guilt.
Only that calm, monstrous pulse that had become his true nature.
He thought of Virka and Narka.
Of their brutal loyalty, of the way they followed him without chains, like beasts that chose to share the hunt.
He knew he trusted them, as much as he was capable of trusting any living being.
But his instinct, sharp as a knife, did not cease asking what kind of territory they might have found.
If it would be strong enough,
alive enough,
to withstand him.
For he was not searching for a home.
He did not believe in such a concept.
He only needed a place where memories would not devour him,
where his power would not destroy everything in its path
by mistake,
by hunger,
by the simple cruelty of existing. The wind lashed his face, dragging along the metallic scent of the city mixed with the distant dampness of the night. Sebastián closed his eyes again, allowing the air to caress his skin as a reminder:
he was still here,
incomplete,
resolute,
a monster too human to yield,
yet too inhuman to be forgiven.
He wondered if the place Virka and Narka were exploring could withstand his weight.
If his heartbeat would align with theirs.
If that territory, wild and alive,
would be capable of anchoring him without trying to crush him.
Meanwhile, he waited in silence,
watchful,
with his Qi pulsing like a second heart,
listening to every vibration of the night
in case —
at any moment —
his pack returned.
The lookout remained wrapped in the same implacable gloom. The broken lights of the city flickered in the distance like the eyes of a dying monster, indifferent to everything. Sebastián stayed motionless, seated on the cracked asphalt, cultivating with the serenity of a predator that does not need fear to remember its strength.
The night breathed, slow, deep, almost dense, dragging the smell of oil, rusted metal, and dust that the city spread without guilt. Everything seemed distant, almost dead, until something shattered the harmony:
blood.
A metallic, damp, fresh scent pierced the stillness like a spear. Sebastián opened his eyes unhurriedly, letting the red spiral of his irises ignite under the dim light. His breathing did not change, but his perception grew taut.
In the distance, beyond the railing that separated the lookout from the common world, he distinguished the echo of uneven footsteps. It was not the clumsy run of a thief, nor the calculated rhythm of a hunter. They were anxious steps, burdened with a violent tremor.
His hearing, sharpened like a living blade, caught muffled screams, the sound of flesh tearing, an impossible crack of breaking bones, and then, a wet gurgling. Sebastián did not frown, he did not sigh. He simply turned his face, curious, like an animal observing another creature in its territory.
There, beneath the flickering lights of a dying streetlamp, he saw them:
four men.
Or at least, bodies in the shape of men. Their movements were far too quick, far too coordinated to be mere humans, yet they lacked any visible aura.
They were tearing apart four women, one after another, like someone dismembering deer.
They did not scream, they did not speak.
They only ripped, broke, devoured.
Like beasts born of hunger and mire.
Of the five victims, only one survived the first onslaught. A young woman, hair plastered to her skin with sweat and blood, her gaze shattered by pure terror, and her belly swollen with a pregnancy far too evident.
She ran.
Or rather, she fled on sheer heartbeat, dragging her legs while life slipped down her thighs.
Sebastián followed her with his eyes, unmoving.
He was not interested.
His mind measured the situation as if dissecting an animal:
prey, predators, logical outcome.
There was nothing worthy of intervention there.
But the woman, almost animal, almost nothing, achieved a miracle:
she clung to instinct,
to the strength of a mother,
and she ran.
She passed among the corpses of the others, while the four monsters —for they did not seem human— shredded entrails with methodical hunger.
They did not chase her immediately.
They simply let her escape,
as if waiting for something more,
as if the content of her womb was worth more alive than dead.
She reached the lookout.
Her steps echoed, faltering, against the concrete.
Her breathing was a cry, a dragged lament.
And when she saw him, Sebastián remained still, almost indifferent, watching as she stumbled and fell to her knees a few meters from him.
Blood.
So much that its scent cloaked his skin like a sweet and fetid shroud.
The woman lifted her gaze.
Her eyes met Sebastián’s red ones,
and shattered even further.
She could have screamed,
she could have begged,
but no voice came out.
Only a trembling exhalation,
a whisper that was lost in the wind. Sebastián studied her as one examines a stone.
He saw nothing valuable in her.
No power,
no threat,
no meaning.
Only a body on the verge of extinguishing.
His Qi remained calm, with no intent to act.
In his world,
that woman meant absolutely nothing.
The woman’s belly shifted,
barely perceptible,
a spasm,
and Sebastián noticed the reflection of another life,
small, tiny,
clinging inside the broken flesh of the mother.
He did not feel compassion.
He only recognized the pulsation.
Heartbeat.
And then, the echo of distorted laughter rose from below.
The four men —the beasts disguised as men— were approaching, dragging their hunger like a cloak.
They did not run.
They did not falter.
They simply walked,
savoring the distance,
waiting for the prey not to die too soon.
Sebastián did not react.
It was not his war,
not his prey,
not anything.
His eyes regarded her with the same serenity with which they would have regarded the broken moon in the sky.
And the woman, with cracked lips, stretched a hand toward him,
her voice broken in a nameless murmur.
Sebastián did not answer.
He did not move.
He simply observed,
allowing the night to hold her final breath,
like an impassive judge
before a tragedy that did not concern him.
The footsteps arrived first as a murmur, then as a heavy dripping on the skin of the night.
Four figures emerged from the depth of the street, walking with impossible calm, their silhouettes stained with blood that still dripped like a living thread.
They did not run.
They did not hurry.
They came walking with the certainty of those who had tasted death too many times to fear it.
Sebastián watched them, unmoving, while the wounded woman —folded in on herself— barely managed to rise, her breathing turned into a voiceless lament. Her hands, smeared with mud and blood, trembled, stretched toward the void, not daring to touch him again.
The four men stopped a few meters before reaching her.
One licked his lips, revealing broken, yellowed teeth where scraps of flesh still clung.
Another sniffed the air, head tilted, like a hunting dog.
The third and fourth did not take their eyes off Sebastián, measuring his figure with a dark gleam in their eyes, something inhuman, liquid, crawling like a living shadow across their pupils.
—Look at this —one growled, his voice broken like a badly set bone—.
A guardian, perhaps?
Another laughed, a dry sound, devoid of joy.
—Looks more like meat for the feast.
Sebastián did not answer.
He only allowed his spiral red eyes to open fully,
staring at them with the same coldness with which he would stare at burning stones.
The four felt the pressure, though they could not name it.
A monstrous heartbeat began to crush their spines,
as if the night itself bent around Sebastián.
He did not move a single muscle,
yet his murderous intent,
his restrained hunger,
poured into the air like a colorless poison,
filling the space between them with an unnatural gravity.
The woman whimpered at the sensation, shrinking in on herself, unable to understand whether that motionless monster was her savior or her executioner.
The first of the men clicked his tongue, shaking his head.
—You shouldn’t interrupt us, friend —he said, his tone almost kind, grotesquely kind—.
We only want the child in her womb. She is already broken,
worth nothing.
Sebastián tilted his head,
measuring each word before speaking,
his voice so calm it froze.
—I’m not interested —he said—.
But I don’t want your noise near me.
The Profaned looked at one another, amused.
The second man laughed with a shrill screech.
—We can take her.
But you...
you smell different.
Better than human flesh.
We could taste you as well.
Sebastián lowered his gaze, a reddish glow pulsing like a tide in his irises.
—No.
His denial was an absolute blade.
A sentence.
The third, taller than the others, bent slightly toward the ground, sniffing the air with animal gestures.
—Stay out of it —he spat—.
Or we will eat you first.
The woman sobbed, a tremor shaking her whole body.
Her hands clutched at a puddle of mud, trying to lift herself to flee,
but she had no strength left.
The four men took another step.
Hunger oozed from their skin,
a hunger that was not human,
nor beast,
but something twisted,
ancient,
decayed.
Sebastián exhaled slowly.
The air seemed to shudder,
as if the very darkness recognized a predator greater than any of them.
—Return to your carrion —he ordered,
his voice grave,
without raising the tone—.
Do not touch her again The fourth man smiled, dried blood etched at the corner of his lips.
—And if not? —he asked, almost cheerful.
Then Sebastián rose.
It was not a leap.
It was not a swift motion.
It was an ascent so slow, so controlled, it hurt to witness,
as if the earth itself feared him.
His presence exploded into the air,
a brutal pressure,
murderous intent expanding like a bottomless sea,
crushing the will of anyone who dared breathe nearby.
The four stepped back, unwillingly,
their faces tensed,
the rotten smile vanished.
Sebastián looked at them with the calm of a monster.
—Then die here —he decreed,
as one signs a contract without witnesses.
The woman collapsed to the ground, fainting from terror and pain,
barely alive,
while the night seemed to bend around the true predator.
And there, beneath the broken sky of the city,
the shadows prepared to devour those who, for an instant,
had dared believe they could hunt in the same realm
as Sebastián.
The woman barely breathed, folded over the cold cement, her trembling hands smeared with blood, not daring to look beyond her own shattered heartbeat.
The four men advanced, their steps slow, their deformed smiles stretching, with a dense, viscous aura crawling around their bodies, a corruption that was neither magic nor flesh, but something worse, something that did not know how to die.
Sebastián measured them with the calm of a supreme predator.
He saw nothing special in them.
Only a stench of restrained putrefaction,
a twisted pulse
that offended the world itself.
One of them, his face still stained with fresh entrails, tilted his head and spoke:
—You can still leave —he growled, with a twisted hint of grotesque courtesy—.
She is ours.
The child she carries, too.
Sebastián did not move.
He did not blink.
He only let his minimal Qi vibrate around his skin, barely a shimmer,
and the air shattered like glass under the weight of his murderous intent.
The Profaned felt the heartbeat, recoiled just slightly, with an almost animal shiver,
but they did not yield.
The second man, wearing the snarl of a trapped beast, let out a shrill scream:
—You are not the first to try to stop us.
You will not be the last.
They began to mutate.
The skin of their arms split open like a diseased cocoon,
revealing tendons that should not exist,
secondary mouths sprouting from rotting flesh,
tiny, gleaming eyes crawling beneath their skin,
like deranged larvae.
But Sebastián did not allow them to finish.
In a single heartbeat,
he vanished.
He appeared above the first,
his fist driving through the open mouth and bursting out the nape,
shattering the skull like a living stake.
He ripped the entire jaw free as he withdrew,
and before the body even fell,
he used that same blood-soaked jaw to smash the second across the face,
splintering his teeth and part of his forehead in a crimson explosion.
The third tried to extend his deformed claws,
but Sebastián disarmed him —literally—
tearing both arms from the shoulders with a dry yank,
a sound of splitting bone and rending flesh that echoed in the night’s void.
Without mercy,
he rammed one of those severed limbs down the creature’s throat,
choking it with its own twisted appendage.
The fourth managed to retreat half a step, the mutation already swelling from his chest,
but Sebastián surged forward,
a knee slamming into his stomach,
snapping his spine with a brutal crack,
and before he could scream,
he crushed the head against the ground with such force that the concrete broke beneath the impact The three survivors, still alive in twisted form,
tried to convulse,
to mutate,
to regenerate.
Sebastián did not allow it.
He crouched over one of them,
driving his hand into the sternum,
ripping the heart out whole,
only to smash it against the face of the second,
crushing the bloody mass into the deformed skull.
The last one, half-transformed, barely managed to babble a distorted roar.
Sebastián seized it by the throat,
lifted it like a pup,
and tore it in two
from top to bottom,
as one splits open a sack of entrails,
letting blood and organs splatter across the ground like an infernal flood.
It all happened in barely five breaths.
So clean,
so brutal,
that the night itself seemed to recoil before him.
When it was over, Sebastián remained standing, surrounded by broken limbs, crushed heads, crimson pools steaming with the heat of still-living flesh.
He did not breathe heavily.
He was not stained with guilt.
Only with the blood of others,
as if it meant nothing.
The pregnant woman, half-conscious, had witnessed every instant of the massacre.
Her glassy eyes could not comprehend what kind of demon had saved her,
or if he had condemned her to a worse terror.
Sebastián looked at her without emotion.
His monstrous presence still pulsed,
telling the world that nothing sacred remained there,
nothing worthy of mercy.
And when the wind carried the stench of death and swept it across the lookout,
Sebastián simply sat down again,
closed his eyes,
and returned to waiting,
as if nothing had happened.
The woman lay sprawled on the ground, gasping like a dying animal. Her swollen belly throbbed with an almost sinister tremor, a pulse of life clinging to the edge of death. Her clothes were torn to the point of reduced to rags, soaked in mud, sweat, and the blood flowing from multiple cuts across her back and legs.
Her hair clung to her forehead in dark strands, matted with dirt. Her trembling hands tried to grip the ground, as if searching for something to hold on to that wasn’t this hell. Her breathing was a weak whistle, broken by hiccups of pure panic.
Her eyes —wide, shattered, glassy— fixed on Sebastián.
His motionless figure, once more seated on the bloodstained asphalt,
surrounded by broken limbs and crushed skulls,
seemed more like a serene monster than a savior.
The woman tried to stammer something,
perhaps gratitude,
perhaps a plea.
But her dry lips only moved without releasing sound.
A tear rolled down her cheek,
mixed with dried blood,
and vanished into the cracks of the pavement.
Fear twisted her voice again,
forcing her to speak:
—Th-thank you... —it came out barely, more a whisper than a word.
Sebastián did not turn his head.
He did not even look at her.
It was as if he hadn’t heard,
or worse, as if he did not care at all.
The woman swallowed hard,
tried to move,
pressing a hand against her swollen belly,
shielding that small life that still beat inside,
unaware of all this horror.
She wanted to crawl away.
But her right leg did not respond.
A torn tendon, perhaps,
or only terror frozen into her very bones.
She looked at Sebastián once more.
His eyes —that red spiral,
deep,
inhuman—
were a bottomless pit,
an abyss where nothing human could survive. She felt the chill of knowing she was still alive
thanks to a monster
that had not saved her,
but had merely disposed of an obstacle.
She wanted to ask him why.
Why he had left her alive.
Why he had not killed her as well.
But she did not dare.
There were not enough words
to speak with a monster
that did not recognize prayers.
Sebastián remained unshaken,
breathing with the serenity of a conscious corpse,
his Qi pulsing faintly,
like a second heart that required no compassion.
The woman stayed there, trembling,
her belly rising and falling in an uneven rhythm,
wondering if she had the strength
to stand again.
And the wind,
cruel,
torn,
carried her broken voice toward the city,
which kept on sleeping,
unaware that at its gates
greater monsters
dreamed of eternity.
The woman was still there, a knot of blood, mud, and terror. Her breathing came in ragged bursts, more like a rusted bellows than a human heartbeat. Her belly shifted irregularly, as if the life she carried inside also knew it was far too close to the abyss.
Sebastián stood a few steps away, surrounded by shattered limbs and torn flesh, his figure so motionless it seemed carved from something harder than the night itself. His gaze, red and spiraled, was not compassionate.
It was inquisitive.
Almost predatory.
He was not interested in the woman, nor her whimpers, nor even the life that still pulsed in her womb.
What interested him was the anomaly.
What interested him was them.
Those four.
Who had tried to transform, mutate into something else,
before he crushed them.
That difference —that nameless distortion—
itched at his instinct like a splinter driven beneath the skin.
He took a step forward.
The echo of his boot landed so heavy that the woman trembled again,
trying to pull herself away,
without success.
Sebastián crouched, with a movement so controlled it almost hurt to witness.
He looked into her face,
as one studies an insect barely alive.
—Speak —he ordered, without raising his voice—.
Where did they come from?
The woman blinked, dazed,
unable to process that the monster who had surrounded her with death now addressed her.
—W-what...? —she stammered, tears mixing with the grime on her face.
Sebastián did not flinch.
—The ones who hunted you —he clarified, with monstrous patience—.
Where did they come from?
She swallowed with effort, her throat torn by screams she had never finished screaming.
—I-I don’t know... —she gasped, her voice trembling—.
They came out of the sewers...
or from a building...
they... they waited for us...
Sebastián listened,
his gaze fixed,
impassive.
He analyzed every word, every tremor, like a wolf measuring unknown territory.
The woman continued, forced by terror itself to empty her memories:
—They laughed... they told us...
said they needed the child...
and that... and that they knew my blood was strong...
A spasm rippled through her belly,
the fetus twisting as if it too perceived the venom of memory. Sebastián watched her a few seconds longer,
weighing that information.
There were no names, no clear clues,
but it was enough to carve a pattern into his mind:
anomalous,
without aura,
hungry for something living,
and strange enough to mutate halfway.
The woman sobbed, like a cornered dog.
—P-please... help me... —she murmured,
her voice broken,
almost dying.
Sebastián looked at her without a single trace of compassion.
—No. —it was all he said.
He rose again,
leaving her on the ground like refuse,
irrelevant,
while his mind still reviewed the words she had managed to spit out.
Sewers.
Building.
An unborn child.
Degeneration.
It was enough information,
engraved in the monstrous instinct that forgot nothing.
The wind stirred his black hair,
carrying with it the rancid smell of the city,
mixed with the iron of still-warm blood.
Sebastián exhaled,
extinguishing all emotion from his chest,
and sat once more,
indifferent,
waiting for the return of Virka and Narka
as if nothing had happened.
The woman tried to rise one last time,
but collapsed,
unconscious,
while the night devoured her without mercy.
The night had already closed over the lookout when the muffled roar of an engine climbed the slope. Helena stopped the car at the edge of the cracked asphalt, shut off the motor with an almost solemn gesture, and held her breath as the beam of the headlights swept across the scene Blood.
So much that it looked like a thick lake, almost black beneath the gloom.
Chunks of flesh, severed limbs, faces crushed beyond recognition until they were nothing but shapeless mass.
A human arm —or something pretending to be one— dangled from the rusted railing, swinging like a broken pendulum.
Helena felt her stomach clench instantly.
The air reeked of iron and recent death,
of opened entrails and organs that had yet to cool.
Selena, in the passenger seat, only raised an eyebrow with a clinical expression,
pressing her lips together without trembling,
analyzing the scene with the precision of a scalpel.
—Four corpses —she counted in a low voice—.
Dismembered.
Blows of extreme force.
No visible weapons.
Virka stepped out of the car before she had finished the sentence, indifferent to the smell,
indifferent to the flesh.
Narka, compact upon her shoulder, let out a faint rumble,
measuring the energy of the place with a golden eye that turned in silence.
Helena covered her nose as she got out, walking cautiously,
as if the ground might swallow her at any moment.
—Sebastián? —she asked, her voice breaking,
afraid of finding him transformed into another of those things.
But there he was,
seated in the same place,
his back straight,
his gaze fixed on nothing,
surrounded by remains,
like a monstrous king at the edge of a throne made of bones.
Virka approached without hesitation,
stepped over a pool of blood that splashed her leg without concern,
and looked at him sharply.
—What is that? —she demanded, gesturing with her chin toward the curled-up woman, still alive,
barely conscious,
covered in mud, blood, and terror.
Sebastián did not move.
His voice came out so flat it chilled the air:
—Noise —he said—.
Nothing but noise. Virka growled under her breath,
with that contained ferocity that brushed against tenderness only with him.
—You could have silenced her —she snorted—.
We don’t need her.
Helena, a few steps away, forced herself to swallow.
She looked at the woman’s swollen belly,
the barely perceptible tremor of the fetus inside,
and something within her, something human and fractured,
pushed her to speak:
—Who... who did this to her?
Sebastián turned his head slightly,
his spiraled eyes burning with brutal calm.
—Them —he answered, as if naming the corpses was enough.
Selena descended as well, circling the bodies with almost elegant steps,
analyzing every wound, every tear mark.
—They weren’t fully human —she said in a neutral tone—.
Something was mutating in their flesh.
Virka snorted, irritated,
as if human disgust seemed to her a waste of energy.
—They were weak —she spat—.
Nothing more.
Narka intervened only for Virka, with his deep mental voice,
transmitted through Qi:
—They smelled of things mixed.
Not humans.
Not beasts.
Not spirits.
Be careful with that.
Virka gave the faintest nod,
understanding,
though she did not reply.
Helena stepped forward once more,
looking at Sebastián with a flicker of frozen respect.
—Is this... what you do when something bothers you? —she asked,
trembling,
without disguising her fear.
Sebastián held her gaze,
indifferent.
—Yes. —he declared without nuance—.
I do not tolerate noise. The pregnant woman broke into tears,
an animal sound,
low,
rasping,
without a future.
Virka barely looked at her,
with a flicker of disdain.
—Are we going to drag her with us? —she asked,
her tone dry,
harsh—.
Or do we leave her to die?
Helena swallowed again,
as if the answer burned in her chest.
—I... I can take her to a hospital —she proposed,
without much conviction—.
If she survives,
maybe...
Sebastián did not answer.
Not a gesture.
Not a blink.
Only his presence,
firm,
monstrous,
claiming the place as his own.
Selena let out a long breath,
accustomed by now that none of this surprised her anymore,
yet still with a clinical gleam of fascination in her eyes.
—We don’t have time —she said coldly—.
If you’re going to decide something,
make it now.
Virka leaned slightly toward Sebastián,
her voice deeper,
almost tender,
but only for him:
—We’re back.
The place will do.
You decide what to do with the carrion.
Sebastián turned his gaze to her,
the hardness breaking for just a second,
enough to accept her loyalty.
—We’ll wait a little longer —he murmured—.
And then we leave. like a she-wolf confirming the pack remained intact.
Helena looked at the woman’s belly,
and the trembling of her hands betrayed her,
for in her world,
that sight
was too human
to allow forgetting.
And so, while the night continued devouring every light of the city,
the lookout was sealed in the echo of blood,
with Sebastián —monster untouched—
reigning effortlessly
in the place where even fear
had dared to flee.
The night breeze licked the lookout with a fetid scent, mixing the iron of blood with the rancid stench of shattered remains. The silence was thick, heavy, as if the city itself held its breath at the sight of the massacre.
Helena stepped forward cautiously, her coat brushing against the reddish pool that still refused to dry. She observed Sebastián’s motionless figure, so serene in the midst of that kingdom of viscera that it seemed inhuman.
—The ground —she began, her voice firm though tension cut through her throat—
meets all the conditions.
It’s spacious, secluded, alive...
no surveillance, no curious neighbors.
Sebastián did not avert his gaze from the city,
as if his entire essence had merged with the gloom.
Helena swallowed and continued, letting her brutal honesty prevail:
—But it’s not free.
Virka tilted her head, her black hair swaying like a veil of smoke.
—Not free? —she spat, a savage gleam in her eyes—.
What do you expect of him, human?
Helena held Virka’s red gaze without retreating.
—I want to live —she said, simple, without begging—.
My body is failing me.
I’m not interested in tales or favors.
If Sebastián can...
heal me,
that ground will be his without further questions.
Sebastián looked at her, at last.
A faint glimmer in his spiraled pupil, almost an echo of interest,
flared for a single heartbeat.
—Your illness —he said, without emotion—.
I don’t know if I care.
Helena did not waver.
—I don’t need you to care.
Only to destroy it.
Selena, standing beside her, added with her surgical voice,
sharp as a scalpel:
—And not turn that territory into a slaughterhouse without reason.
We can tolerate monsters.
Not unpredictability.
Sebastián listened in silence,
with the terrible calm of something that had never wanted to be human.
—As long as they don’t cross me —he murmured—
there will be no killing.
Selena nodded, cold, without further argument.
Helena drew a deep breath,
as if in doing so she allowed herself to carry life for a few more days.
On the ground, the pregnant woman was still trembling,
consciousness dripping back in fragments,
her dry lips moving in a voiceless plea.
Virka looked at her with contempt.
—What do we do with that one? —she asked, almost with annoyance.
Sebastián did not turn toward the woman.
He only let his words spill out with murderous calm.
—She could become a target again for those things —he said—.
Or for worse.
Narka, upon Virka’s shoulder, intervened with the gravity of one who had seen eras pass:
—If you let her go,
she will die.
If you keep her,
she will be an open fissure.
Helena pressed her lips together, staring at the woman’s swollen belly,
at the trembling heartbeat still shifting inside her,
a cruel reminder of what could be hunted again. Sebastián closed his eyes for an instant,
remembering the anomalous vibration of those four.
A different energy,
twisted,
almost alive.
—What they carried inside —he said at last, slow,
measured like a blade—
vibrated in a way...
useful.
Helena frowned.
—Useful?
Sebastián explained no further.
It wasn’t necessary.
In his world, the usefulness of something
never passed through compassion.
The woman tried to crawl,
a pathetic movement,
brushing against cold blood,
but her body did not respond.
Virka sighed, with the wild patience she reserved only for Sebastián.
—So?
Do we take her with us or split her here?
Helena swallowed hard,
struggling with her own human reflex.
ic marker sequencing —she ordered without a tremor—.
I want everything.
—Everything? —the neurologist repeated, surprised—.
But your last review only two months ago showed severe progression...
Helena lifted her chin.
—Do as I say.
Today.
They did not dare refuse.
They set to work immediately, and the silence of waiting thickened into a heavy wall. Selena, seated beside her in the private room, looked at her with a flicker of doubt, almost a reflex of humanity.
—Are you sure you want to know it all at once, so abruptly?
Helena let out a harsh laugh.
—Selena... after what I’ve seen,
I’d rather face any truth immediately.
Nearly three hours passed.
Three hours in which the air grew stifling,
and Helena’s pulse throbbed so violently it hurt.
When the doctors returned, they carried the printed results and faces drained of color.
—Mrs. Caelis... —the neurologist began, stammering—.
We... we found nothing.
Helena raised an eyebrow.
—What do you mean, nothing?
—Your neural connections... they are intact.
The autoimmune markers are normal.
There are no signs of necrosis, no scarring, no trace of prior degeneration.
Not even residual inflammation.
It’s as if... —he swallowed hard—
as if you had never been sick at all.
Helena drew in a breath, and felt the world trembling inside her.
Selena closed her eyes, absorbing the magnitude of those words.
—Is such regeneration possible? —Helena asked, steady yet trembling.
The neurologist shook his head, pale.
—No, ma’am.
Not in 2027, not with any known technology.
This... has no explanation.
Helena let out a laugh nearly broken,
a chuckle tinged with tears that shook her to the core.
—Perfect —she murmured,
in a tone that chilled the entire medical team—.
Perfect.
Selena leaned toward her, her voice low, for Helena’s ears only:
—We can’t tell anyone, can we? Helena shook her head slowly.
—Never.
This dies here.
Like every monster
that decides to make us its own.
Selena nodded, accepting without protest.
And as the sunset bled over the towers of the city,
Helena knew, with a certainty that burned her flesh,
that her life no longer fully belonged to her,
and that the worst of Sebastián
was still to come.
Night had already fallen when the car passed through the wrought-iron gates. The automatic lights flicked on with a dim glow, bathing the mansion’s façade in an almost spectral hue. The white columns looked like monumental scars, and the glass panes reflected the outside world with an unsettling emptiness.
Helena stepped out, her footsteps echoing across the marble of the foyer like the echo of everything she had lost.
Selena followed, silent, measuring each corner with the respect of someone who knew she was treading the territory of an empire.
Helena’s house was large. Too large.
A monument to solitude disguised as success.
Polished stone floors, corridors lined with red carpet, hanging chandeliers that seemed to devour the light.
Everything smelled of professional cleaning, of frozen wealth, of memories without trace.
It was a soap opera mansion.
Perfect in every detail,
so perfect it hurt.
They sat in the main hall, a space with walls covered in expensive paintings, where velvet furniture clashed with the clinical chill of the lights.
Helena poured two glasses of dark, dense whisky, its aroma burning through memories. She slid one toward Selena, and downed hers in a single swallow that scorched her throat.
—Do you know what’s most ridiculous? —she asked suddenly, her voice broken but dignified—.
That all this wealth... —she gestured broadly around the room, almost theatrically—
was worth nothing.
Selena didn’t answer.
She let her speak.
Helena sighed, sinking into the armchair as though the leather were devouring her.
—I was born in nothing —she said with a serenity that chilled the air—.In a place where power was inheritance,
and misery was tattooed into the skin.
My mother died cleaning other people’s houses.
My father was nothing more than a whisper lost before I could remember him.
She stared at her empty glass, as if she could read fate in the bottom of the crystal.
—I inherited nothing but my name.
I had to claw for every inch of respect
with a sharpened tongue,
a cold mind,
and the patience of a crow.
Selena drank slowly, listening without interrupting.
—I founded my first company with the money from a pitiful loan —Helena continued, her voice trembling with restrained rage—.
I built an empire by biting down on every opportunity.
Energy, biotechnology, defense, banking.
They turned me into a myth.
But not into a woman.
Not into a human being.
She ran her hand along her neck, as though removing an invisible noose.
—I was... a walking testament.
Everyone expected to inherit me.
They expected me to die.
They only ever saw me as a fortune with legs.
Helena closed her eyes, her throat burning with alcohol.
—I never learned how to love.
Never knew how to trust.
Not because I was cruel...
but because I forgot how.
A heavy silence enveloped the room.
Only the murmur of the wind behind the windows dared to fill the void.
—When they diagnosed me with SAN... —she went on, her voice broken and nearly defeated—
I didn’t rebel.
I didn’t fight.
I just accepted it.
I thought:
at least this way no one can steal the little that’s left of me.
Selena set her glass down on the crystal table.
She leaned toward her, her expression still cold but faintly human.
—And now? —she asked softly. Helena laughed, a dry sound, like splintering wood.
—Now I’m alive —she confessed—.
But I feel more dead than ever.
Because a monster tore the sickness out of me...
as if it were just an obstacle in his path.
Selena nodded, accepting that bluntness without protest.
—Do you regret it?
Helena shook her head slowly.
—No.
But...
now I know that all my strength,
this whole house,
this entire fortune...
means nothing before someone like him.
Nothing.
They stayed like that, still, with the bitter aroma of whisky hanging in the air.
Helena allowed herself a deep sigh,
looking around with glassy eyes,
as though discovering for the first time the golden prison she had built.
—Selena —she said at last, her voice a thin thread—
when I truly die...
I don’t want to be buried here.
This place kills me slower than any disease.
Selena lowered her gaze, shaken by a tremor she couldn’t contain.
—I’ll remember —she promised.
Outside, the city kept burning with its artificial lights,
oblivious to the pain,
oblivious to the monstrosity already beginning to claim its territory
beyond all logic.
The city stretched beneath her wheels, lit by a thousand hollow lights, like a sleeping animal breathing cables and asphalt. Selena drove in silence, leaving Helena’s mansion behind with the serenity of one who knows how to measure her steps even in the heart of a storm.
The night traffic barely brushed her. In her world, no one stopped her, no one questioned her.
When she arrived at her building—a sleek, sharp tower of minimalist design—she parked in her private space and ascended in the elevator, alone.
Polished floors, walls of immaculate steel, without unnecessary adornment.
Everything reflected her essence:
precision,
order,
dominion. She entered her penthouse without turning on any additional lights.
The domotic system immediately adjusted the temperature, dimmed the terrace glass, and cast a soft, indirect glow that honored every straight line, every measured angle.
Selena slipped off her shoes at the threshold, released the knot holding her jet-black hair, and walked to the bathroom, where she let her executive clothes fall with the precision of someone shedding a combat uniform.
Her silk robe slid over her shoulders, embracing with elegance her flawless figure:
a firm bust,
a slender waist,
hips measured with the exactness of an obsessive sculptor.
She stood before the long mirror for a moment,
her metallic gray eyes
cold,
analytical,
inhumanly steady.
She saw no sensuality.
She saw no weakness.
Only the body she had honed and refined into a perfect tool.
She crossed the room—a space of pale walls, hidden domotics, a minimalist bed stripped of ornate headboard—
and sat on the edge of the mattress,
letting the soft fabric graze against the skin of her thighs.
She sighed, slowly,
like a gear releasing pressure after a day of overload.
And then she thought of him.
Sebastián.
A monster.
That’s what he was.
Not a metaphor, not an insult.
Literally, a monster.
Not human, though his skin pretended.
A devourer of everything:
illness,
mercy,
even the sanity of the world itself.
She had seen him tear through Helena’s rotten flesh without hesitation,
seen him heal by destroying,
rebuild like a living void,
without poetry or tenderness. Selena did not tremble.
It wasn’t her habit.
But in the depths of her mind,
where even the perfect walls of her self-control could not reach,
she felt the murmur of a true fear.
How do you control something that can no longer be called human?
She exhaled again, deeper,
and allowed herself a glass of cold water,
as though rinsing out a lingering poison.
She began assessing the pieces mentally,
just as she did with any corporate threat:
Sebastián:
Uncontrollable.
Potentially lethal.
But with inner codes,
with boundaries—
though they were his alone, and no one else’s.
Virka:
A loyal, savage animal,
who could kill or protect with the same ease.
Narka:
An entity
unclassifiable,
with an ancient wisdom that could serve as either weapon or shield.
Together, the three formed an abyss.
A void that neither her discipline,
nor her power networks,
could ever fill or dominate.
Even so,
Selena did not plan to run.
She had not come this far by fleeing.
She leaned back on the bed,
the silk robe tracing the precise curve of her waist,
and let her breathing steady,
like that of a sniper waiting for the next shot.
“If I cannot defeat them,”
she thought with chilling serenity,
“I will study them.
And if I cannot study them, I will stay close long enough
that they never devour me without seeing me coming.
A half-smile traced her perfect lips,
not of joy,
but of acceptance.
There, in the pristine silence of her elevated refuge,
Selena allowed herself barely a whisper,
a dry incantation meant only for herself:
—I will not lose.
No matter who or what my adversary may be.
Outside, the city lit itself with the blind pulse of millions of lives,
ignorant of the monsters already walking its streets,
and of the angel of marble
who had chosen to watch over their rise,
without trembling.
____________________________________
END OF Chapter 20