The pressure hadn't lifted—it had only thickened, stretching over the base like an invisible shroud. It crushed the air from lungs and twisted the nerves of every living thing it touched. There was no mistaking it now. This wasn't anxiety. It was dread made manifest.
In the command center, the colonel's hand trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the table. His voice, though firm, was tinged with fear as he barked into the radio.
"Everyone to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for the worst."
Down in the medical wing, Angelo sat in silence, his gaze fixed on nothing, jaw tight.
His muscles still burned from the last encounter, but that wasn't what made his body feel heavier now. It was the sensation in his chest—cold, oppressive, ancient. A pressure he couldn't ignore.
Grant was already watching him. His arms were crossed, but his jaw was tight, and his eyes were full of something rare: unease. The moment Angelo made to stand, Grant moved in front of him.
"You're not ready. You need to rest," he said, trying to sound firm. But even he could hear the tremor in his own voice.
Angelo didn't stop. He pushed past him slowly, each movement strained but full of purpose.
"You don't get it," he muttered, eyes locked ahead. "That presence—what you're all feeling—it's not just stronger than the watchers or the angels… It's older. Deeper. I don't even think it's alive the way we understand it."
The hallway outside was chaos.
Soldiers sprinted to positions, radios crackled with overlapping orders, alarms blared like a warning from the world itself. Civilians crowded in corners, some sobbing, others praying, most frozen in stunned silence. A child clung to a woman's leg, eyes wide and dry, too terrified to cry.
Angelo passed them like a shadow, their panic clinging to him as he moved.
The further he went, the clearer it became—this wasn't just fear. It was hopelessness. Despair was thick in the air, spreading faster than orders. People didn't know what was coming, but their instincts screamed that whatever it was, they weren't ready. And they wouldn't survive it.
He reached the corridor.
His family was there—just beyond a security checkpoint. Olivia and Alex were speaking with one of the guards, their voices hushed and hurried. They both looked on edge, their posture rigid, their eyes darting toward every sound.
Alex turned, catching sight of Angelo first.
His face hardened instantly.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snapped. "I told you not to show your face—"
"Shut up and listen to what I'm about to say!" Angelo's voice erupted through the hallway like a thunderclap. The sheer force of it silenced not only his family, but the nearby guards too.
Even the sobs of a child nearby faded for a moment.
"What you felt earlier—that pressure—it wasn't me," Angelo said, voice rough with urgency. "I know what you think of me, but this… this is something else. Something worse."
Alex's lip curled. "You expect us to believe that? After everything? You think we don't see it—what you're becoming?"
"Let me finish!" Angelo snapped again, stepping forward. "Please… just this once, let me speak."
Olivia hesitated. She gently placed a hand on Alex's arm. "Alex… maybe we should listen."
Angelo exhaled slowly. His voice dropped to something more controlled, but heavy with emotion.
"You all need to leave. Hide. Get as far away from this base as you can. Something's coming. They'll be after me, but anyone nearby—anyone who gets in their way—won't survive."
From the next room, the rest of the family emerged.
James, Emma, and Sophia stepped into the hall, all drawn by the noise. James moved closer, looking between Olivia, Alex, and Angelo with furrowed brows.
"What's going on?" he asked. "Is it more angels?"
Angelo met his gaze, forcing his voice to stay calm. "It's worse. I don't know what they are, but they're coming—and fast. I need to lead them away before it's too late."
Sophia didn't respond right away. Her eyes weren't on Angelo. They were distant—focused on something only she could see or hear. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, but resolute.
"He's right," she whispered. "Something terrible has crossed into our world."
A stillness fell.
The distant sirens became muffled, like the sound of another reality, far away. For a moment, all that existed was the tight hallway, the flickering lights, and the unspoken truth that this might be the last time they were all together.
"I'm going to draw them away," Angelo said. "I'll head the other direction. If I can keep them chasing me, maybe you all can escape."
They said nothing. Fear had replaced every word they could've spoken.
He looked at each of them—at Alex's clenched fists, Olivia's trembling hands, Emma's frightened eyes, James's confusion. He felt a surge of guilt so overwhelming, he nearly buckled.
"This might be the last time I see any of you," he said, voice cracking slightly. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For the fear, for the pain… for being the reason this nightmare ever started."
He turned away.
His steps were slow but sure, the silence behind him unbearable.
Then, a soft voice cut through it like a knife.
"… I'm sorry, my son."
He stopped cold.
Olivia had stepped forward, tears in her eyes. "I should not have feared you," she said, voice trembling. "I see that now."
Angelo turned his head slightly, his eyes shimmering with moisture. His lips curled into a small, fragile smile.
"Thank you," he whispered.
And then, without looking back again, he walked away—his figure slowly swallowed by the cold, flickering corridor. The storm awaited him.
— End of Arc II —