The room was in complete shambles. Cracked walls and floors, broken equipment, shards of glass scattered everywhere, papers strewn across the ground. Soldiers, medics, and researchers lay unconscious, sprawled across the debris. The second team of soldiers that had arrived, helped everyone to their feet and moved them to the medical wing. Fear etched deep lines across every face.
Angelo's family stood frozen, staring at him. The bed that had been crushed only moments ago was whole again. He lay there, peaceful, unmoving—almost as if he were dead.
The Major steadied himself, the lingering cold of the ice still biting at his senses. He spoke to the group, voice firm:
"We have been warned not to harm you people in any way. The General will be informed."
He began to walk away, frustration creeping into his tone. Over his shoulder, he added, "All of you are free now. Do whatever you want."
No one responded. The Major left the room.
The air slowly warmed, returning to normal. Yet the chill in their bones—the echo of what had happened—lingered.
As Angelo's body lay on the bed, the white being returned to the Void, where his soul and the crimson being sat upon their thrones. The white being settled into his seat—not with a flash, not with sound, not with ceremony—just a faint flicker, and he was there.
Seeing him, Angelo leapt from his throne, approaching, voice trembling, "Is everyone safe? What happened out there? It didn't take you much time to return. Is everything alright?"
The white being lifted only a finger. Angelo was pulled back, an invisible force yanking him into his colorless throne. He was seated with a firmness that left no room to resist.
"Calm down," the white being said, calm as ice. "They are safe—Everything's alright. I've made sure it stays that way," he added, each word deliberate, unyielding.
Angelo shook his head, trying to understand. "How do I even know? Am I just supposed to take your words for it?"
The crimson being sighed, regret brushing his tone. "Why did we have to go with a human vessel? All they do is question everything. They are so fragile and dumb."
"Hay! Now you're just being mean," Angelo snapped, offended.
They ignored him. The crimson being turned to the white being. "'They' felt it, didn't they?"
"Yes. We need to hurry to the next step," came the reply.
Angelo cut in, frustration rising. "Now you're just ignoring me. I want to go back! I can't just blindly believe everything I'm tol—"
The crimson being raised his left hand. As his palm snapped shut, Angelo's body stiffened, his voice cut off mid-word. His body froze. His voice caught.
"You're way too loud," the crimson being muttered, low and irritated.
Both beings regarded him. He could move nothing. He could speak nothing. Only watch. Only hear.
"If you can't trust our words, you will see for yourself once we are done," the white being said.
"They have sensed our presence. They must have already started searching for us," the crimson being added, voice rough as embers.
"You must be thinking, what are we talking about," the white being prompted.
Angelo stared.
"'They' are part of an army. An army of a single fool, who thinks we can be turned into slaves. Some look like Angels. But they are mere impactions," the crimson being said.
"Some slipped through during the second breach. They've been searching—for us. You must be careful," the white being added, urgency threading through calm.
A pause. "There's something else. It might feel like minutes have passed here, but outside… three days have gone by."
Angelo's mind faltered. Three days? Time flows slower here? How…?
The crimson being's grin widened, sharp and knowing, as if he could read every thought racing through Angelo's mind. "Yes. Time flows slower in this place."
Angelo shouted at him, in thought, What the!? You can read my mind?What did you do to me? Let go!
"He's still noisy, even restrained," the white being observed. "Calm down, or else—"
"Fuck you!" Angelo interrupted, his defiance cutting through thought.
The white being looked stunned. Laughter erupted from the crimson being, shaking the Void itself.
"Defiance… he carries it well," the white being murmured.
The crimson being's laughter dwindled. "Let's just merge with him. We don't have time to teach manners. Besides, he'll have all the time he wants to learn."
They rose from their thrones. The white being said, "After we merge, the Void will become active again."
The crimson being added, "It will speak with you. Do not listen to it."
The white being: "Try not to return here if you can."
Then, in unison, their voices rolled together, layered, echoing like twin currents across an infinite chasm:
"Do not let the Void take over."
The forms of both beings shimmered. The thrones pulsed—white and crimson light spiraling outward, coiling into Angelo. The convergence had begun. White, red, and human—no longer separate.
Back in the room, Angelo had lain still on the bed for a full day. Soldiers were stationed outside, guarding him, and a medical team had been assigned—but none dared step across the threshold.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, tracing the cracked ceiling above. He shifted, sitting up. A nearby soldier caught the movement. His eyes went wide.
"He's awake!" he stammered, pressing the radio to his mouth to report it.
The sterile lights above seemed dimmer now. Angelo's body felt… altered. Taller. Stronger. His muscles dense, heavy with restrained power. He fixed his gaze on the soldier who had spoken. Cold. Silent. The soldier froze, as if Angelo's eyes were peering straight into his soul. Sweat beaded his forehead as he stammered, voice shaking, "Please… stay in this room. The Major will be here shortly."
Angelo said nothing. He swung his legs off the bed and stood. His eyes scanned the wrecked room, finally landing on the two-way mirror that had survived the shockwave.
Debris cracked under his steps as he approached. Standing before the mirror, he saw his reflection: the same face, the same messy hair—but now snow-white, taller, broader, more defined. It was him. And yet… he refused to accept it.
He twisted, eyes trailing down his back—and there it was. The mark. Larger than before, pulsing slowly. Frustration flared. He pressed his left hand against the thick glass, over his own reflection. His eyes burned with anger.
He closed his palm.
A sharp crack, then BOOM. The military-grade mirror shattered under his force. Fragments spun, multiplying his reflection into jagged shards. The sound froze everyone in place. Hands went to weapons—but no one dared raise them. They only stared, hearts hammering.
The Major arrived just as the mirror broke. The sight shook him, yet he kept his composure and stepped into the room. A soldier whispered from the side, "Major… please, don't—"
But the Major didn't listen. He advanced, stopping a few feet from Angelo. Expression unreadable, posture tense.
"I am Major Gideon Connors. I'm in charge of seeing what your demands are."
Angelo lowered his fist. No blood. No cut. Not even a scratch. The anger faded from his eyes, replaced by quiet resolve.
"Where is my family?" His voice was calm, firm.
Connors met his gaze. "They are in the housing area for civilians. I can take you there in a few minutes. But…" Angelo's expression shifted slightly. Connors continued, "You need some clothes first. If you haven't noticed… you're completely naked."
He signaled a soldier, who stepped forward cautiously with a folded uniform—simple, black, military-issue.
"Put these on. Then we can go to them," Connors said.
Angelo dressed in silence, black T-shirt snug over his newly defined frame, camo pants falling heavy over powerful legs. He followed Major Gideon Connors through the metallic corridors. Every step drew whispers, widened eyes, hushed gasps. Soldiers who had spoken freely now fell silent. Medical staff averted their gaze. Civilians pulled children close. One child peeked from behind a corner, then burst into tears. His presence was no longer human. It made the weak recoil.
Finally, they reached the room where his family and Sophia were staying. Connors said, "They are inside. The door should be open, you can go inside."
Angelo gave a nod and pushed the door open. The air shifted. James tensed. Olivia stepped back slowly. Emma pressed her face into her father's arm. Sophia froze, uncertain what she was seeing.
Angelo stopped just inside the room, waiting. Sophia's voice came first, quiet and shaking, "Is… is that you, Angelo?"
No one else moved. Olivia, who had once run to him without hesitation, remained still, hands clutching Emma's shoulders protectively. Angelo sensed the fear radiating from them and said, "Yes. It's me, Angelo."
Emma turned to her father and whispered, "Please… please tell him to go away…" The words cut deeper than blades.
Angelo's eyes widened, chest heavy as lead, a sharp pang of hurt sinking deep. He pushed the words out of his mouth, voice cracking under the weight. "W… what? It's me, Emma. Your big brother. There's no reason to fear me…"
Emma shook her head and yelled, "You're not him. You're not my big brother."
James pulled her back further into the room. Alex stepped forward, face twisted with anguish and fury. "Can't you see the truth?! Look at yourself! You're not him anymore!" He pointed. "You're a monster! You don't belong here!"
Angelo looked down at his hands—no longer the hands of a boy, but something unfamiliar, something they couldn't recognize, something they couldn't trust. His heart pounded in his chest, tears threatening to fall, but he held himself still, silent.
He said nothing. Quietly, he turned and walked away. The door sealed behind him with a heavy hiss.
Silence filled the room, heavy with the pain left behind.