(POV Shift: First Person)
Peace is a strange sensation. After the adrenaline of battle and the bitter hangover of guilt, the silence of the Warren house was almost deafening. Judy and the babysitter, Mary Ellen, slept upstairs, finally safe. The house was clean, or at least, as clean as it could be after a military-grade demonic infestation. And I... I was bored.
Loneliness was a new kind of enemy. A more subtle one, but just as corrosive. To combat it, I did what any teenager with access to almost unlimited funds and severe trauma would do: I ordered pizza. Through the shop interface, which now had a convenient "Mundane Services" tab, I used some of the donation money to order two large pizzas and some wings from a local place in Monroe, Connecticut. The delivery guy's face when I gave him a hundred-dollar tip through an invisible digital transaction was, honestly, one of the best moments of my punishment so far.
Sitting on the Warrens' back porch, a slice of pepperoni pizza in one hand, I allowed myself a greater luxury. I had found Ed's wine cellar. It wasn't large, but it was quality. I chose a promisingly expensive-looking bottle of 1961 Chateau Margaux, opened it with a shop-bought corkscrew, and poured myself a glass. I knew nothing about wine, but it tasted like victory.
As I ate, I browsed the shop, my new skill tree. With the thousands of dollars I now had, I could afford an upgrade. I saw one that caught my eye, under the "Physiology" category.
[PRETERNATURAL REFLEXES - LEVEL 1] - Cost: $750
Passive: Your nervous system is overloaded with a low-level response energy. Increases reaction speed to imminent physical threats by 200%. May manifest as instinctive evasion.
Seven hundred and fifty dollars for better reflexes. Seemed like a steal. I hit "buy." I felt a tingling at the base of my skull, a sensation like caffeine going directly to my brain. I didn't feel stronger, just... more alert. Every sound of the crickets, every rustle of the wind, seemed sharper, clearer.
I leaned back in the porch chair, sipped Ed's wine, and waited. I knew they wouldn't be long. And I knew this conversation was going to be far more awkward than fighting a demon.
(POV Shift: Third Person)
The yellow taxi pulled up in front of the Warren house just as the sun began to set. Ed and Lorraine stepped out of the car, their bodies aching from the emergency flight, their souls even more weary. For seven hours, they had been suspended in the air, trapped with their thoughts and the knowledge that their home and daughter were in danger.
They walked up the path to their house, a sanctuary that now felt defiled, not by a demon, but by the consequences of their war. And then they saw him.
On their back porch, visible from the driveway, was Alex. He was sitting in Ed's favorite rocking chair, his feet propped on the railing. Beside him, on a small table, were half-eaten pizza boxes and an open bottle of a 1961 Chateau Margaux that Ed had been saving for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Alex held a glass of wine in one hand, watching the sunset as if he owned the place.
The vein in Ed's forehead began to throb. All the fear, all the forced gratitude, all the cosmic awe, evaporated, replaced by a pure, earthly fury.
"What in God's name?!" Ed snapped, his voice a low growl as he quickened his pace.
Alex heard him. He turned slowly, unhurriedly. He saw Ed and Lorraine approaching, and a small, quiet smile appeared on his lips. It wasn't arrogant. It wasn't mocking. It was the smile of someone who has been waiting for the director to discuss the terms of their contract.
"Ah, you're back," Alex said. He raised his glass in a toast. "Flight well, I hope. Wine's excellent, by the way, Mr. Warren. You have good taste."
Ed stopped in front of him, trembling with rage. "You're drinking my wine! On my porch! Eating pizza! After everything that's happened! After what you did to my wife!"
Alex took a sip, savoring it. Then, with exasperating calmness, he picked up a paper napkin from the pizza box and wiped the corners of his mouth. He folded the napkin neatly and set it aside.
"Technically," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, "your house is currently ground zero for my divine punishment, which also happens to be your workplace. Consider it a per diem for services rendered. The pizza, by the way, I paid for. Would you like a slice? The pepperoni's quite good."
"I don't want pizza!" Ed yelled. "I want you to explain what you are and what you're doing in my house!"
Alex set down the wine glass and stood. His brief moment of peace was over. It was time to get back to work. "That's fair. The truth is, I'm glad you arrived. Because I'm leaving now."
Lorraine, who had remained silent, stepped forward. "Leaving? Where could you possibly go?"
Alex looked at her, and for the first time, the calm on his face was replaced by the shadow of a storm. "I'm going after someone," he said.
"Who?" Ed asked, his anger momentarily replaced by confusion.
Alex's smile returned, but this time, it was anything but tranquil. It was a shark's smile.
"Valak."
(POV Shift: First Person)
The word hung in the twilight air. Ed and Lorraine stared at me, dumbfounded.
"Going after Valak?" Lorraine repeated, incredulous. "Alex, that's suicide. You banished him. That's a victory. We need to strengthen our defenses, prepare for his return, not... not go looking for him!"
"And wait for him to come back?" I retorted, my voice now charged with a cold intensity. "Wait for him to find another family to torture? Another crack to slip through? Another conduit to use? No. Playing defense is over. The battle in Enfield, the attack on your house... all of that was because he was hiding in the shadows. What needs to be done is to drag him into the light. Go to the source."
"The source?" Ed asked, now intrigued despite his anger. "What source?"
"His nest. His point of origin in this plane," I explained. "The place where his power first seeped through. His castle. We need to bring his castle down. I know where it is. I know when."
I turned, looking away from them, and gazed up at the darkening sky. I felt my jailer's presence, always watching, always listening. It was time to force his hand again.
"HEY, YOU! MR. GOD-LITE! LORD OF EDGY PUNISHMENTS!" I yelled at the sky. "YOU HEARD THE KID! THE MISSION'S NOT OVER! THE FINAL BOSS HAS A CASTLE AND I PLAN ON GOING THERE TO BURN IT TO THE GROUND! SO STOP PLAYING GAMES AND SEND ME THERE ALREADY! ROMANIA, 1952! THE CÂRȚA MONASTERY! YOU KNOW THE ADDRESS! SEND ME THERE!"
(POV Shift: Third Person)
Ed and Lorraine watched, horrified and fascinated, as Alex yelled at the sky again. But this time it wasn't a demand for punishment. It was a demand for tactical deployment. He was dictating the terms of the next mission.
The god, it seemed, did not appreciate the initiative.
There was no darkening of the sky. No ominous thunder. There was a very mundane, very close sound: the squeal of tires on asphalt.
About fifty meters away, the Warrens' neighbor's blue sedan, a 1964 Ford Galaxie that was peacefully parked on the street, started itself. Its headlights gleamed with an unnatural light. The car levitated a meter in the air, its tires spinning furiously.
"Oh, no," Lorraine said, grabbing Ed's arm.
With a roar from its V8 engine, the car shot forward. Not down the street. Directly through the neighbor's yard, through the splintering wooden fence, and straight towards the porch. Directly towards Alex.
It was a two-ton bullet of American steel.
"ALEX, LOOK OUT!" Ed yelled, purely on instinct.
But Alex didn't panic. He stood still, watching the car hurtle towards him. On his HUD, a small notification flickered: [PRETERNATURAL REFLEXES ACTIVATED].
Just as the car was about to turn him into a smear on his own house's wall, Alex moved. He didn't step aside. He crouched, bending his knees, and then leaped.
It wasn't a human leap. It was an impossible arc of power and grace. He flew through the air, cleanly clearing the car's hood at full speed, like an Olympic athlete jumping a deadly hurdle. He landed softly on the grass behind the car, without a scratch.
The Ford Galaxie didn't stop. It slammed into the corner of the Warren house with a cataclysmic clang of twisting metal, shattering bricks, and exploding glass. The vehicle embedded itself in the living room wall, its engine finally dying with a last, sad hiss of steam.
Alex stood up, brushed grass from his pants, and looked at the wrecked car. Then, he looked up at the sky, a wry smile on his face. He didn't even raise his voice.
"Grumpy."
The word had barely left his mouth when darkness enveloped him. It wasn't a violent erasure, but a simple, swift blink. One instant he was there, and the next, he was gone.
Ed and Lorraine stood in their yard, amidst the silence that followed the destruction. They looked at the remains of their neighbor's car embedded in their house. They looked at the half-drunk wine and half-eaten pizza on their porch. And they looked at the empty space where, for the third time, the impossible boy had vanished.
"He... he jumped over a car," Ed said, his voice a whisper of disbelief.
Lorraine nodded, her mind trying to grasp it. "And then he called the entity who threw it at him 'Grumpy'." She paused, a new, terrible certainty forming in her mind. "Ed... I don't think he's just a prisoner of that thing. I think he's becoming its equal."