December 19, 2018A9 Highway, en route to Ingolstadt – 7:47 PM
The rain drummed softly against the windshield of the black BMW as the headlights of other cars stretched across the wet road. Inside the vehicle, silence reigned, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the patter of raindrops.
"Are you sure it was him who did the search?" asked Klein, eyes fixed ahead and hands steady on the wheel.
The man in the passenger seat nodded without lifting his gaze from the laptop resting on his lap. He was thin, pale, with dark circles under his eyes and round glasses that reflected the screen. His fingers danced over the keyboard as if speaking a secret language.
"Completely. He accessed the dark web using low-security proxies. He searched 'Dominion' and 'summoning rituals' on very specific forums. He even asked about books that only we—Dominion—know exist."
"Name?" Klein raised an eyebrow.
"Lars Braun," the informatics expert replied in a flat tone. "The same one who disappeared weeks ago with his daughter."
Klein clicked his tongue. "And why would he be looking into this now? Revenge?"
"Could be. Or maybe... he wants power."
Klein let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Everyone wants power. But not everyone survives its price."
The car sped up and disappeared among the vehicles heading toward the illuminated heart of Munich.
Ingolstadt December 20, 2018 – Lars Braun's apartment – 3:12 PM
The clock hands dragged lazily in the quiet room. Lars leaned back in his desk chair, eyes fixed on the laptop screen. The winter light filtered through the window—dim and cold.
He hadn't slept well in days. Since breaking into Seck's basement and extracting the information, he had gone over every document and image at least five times. Words like Dominion, pact, and summoning were no longer foreign to him. There was something about those rituals that disturbed him—and at the same time, drew him in.
Outside, the city prepared for Christmas. Lights lit up the streets, and the scent of cinnamon and mulled wine lingered in the air. But Lars hardly noticed.
By December 23, he started to feel it—that weight in the air. That strange sensation that someone else shared his space, even when he was alone.
At first, he thought it was paranoia. Then he began noticing it on the street: a figure watching from afar; a shadow following him for an extra block. He was never entirely sure. But the feeling was constant.
And worse—he felt it even inside his apartment.
He turned suddenly and looked toward the back window. Nothing. Just buildings and the slowly falling night.
Ingolstadt, 24 de diciembre de 2018 – Centro de la ciudad – 18:39
The city brimmed with holiday cheer. Families strolled through the market stalls, lights flickered like fireflies, and soft music came from somewhere nearby.
Lars walked alone, hands buried in the pockets of his coat. The cold bit at his skin. A scarf covered part of his face and a hat protected his ears, but the wind still cut through.
Despite the crowd, something felt wrong.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Two men.
Dressed in black. Long coats. Walking casually—but always in his direction. For more than an hour.
Lars turned down a side street. So did they.
He quickened his pace. Turned a corner. Entered a store. Waited. Left through another door.
They were gone. He had lost them.
He walked quickly toward his building. The sky was already dark. The parking lot was wide, lit only by flickering streetlamps.
And there they were.
The two men.
One leaned against a pillar. The other stood, staring directly at him.
"Lars Braun," one called out calmly. "Can we talk?"
Lars stopped, tense. Everything inside him screamed to run. But something in the way they watched him told him there was no escape anymore.
He looked around. Not a soul in sight. Only the cold December wind rustling the leaves on the asphalt.
"Who are you?" he asked cautiously.
"We could answer that," the same man replied, stepping forward, "but we'd prefer if you invited us up to your apartment. It would be more comfortable for everyone."
The other man—taller and thinner—remained silent. His posture was rigid, his gaze cold. Lars felt as though those eyes undressed him, as if they saw something beyond the physical.
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll tell you our names. He's Klein, and I'm Hermann. We won't force you," said Hermann with a slight shrug. "But it'd be a shame to start like this."
Klein finally spoke. His voice was deep, restrained, almost mechanical.
"We just want to understand who you are... and why you're searching for what you're searching."
They climbed the stairs and arrived at the apartment. Lars opened the door. The two men entered and Lars followed. The door closed with a dull thud. Lars stepped back, still tense.
Hermann walked straight to the desk, sifting through papers, printed documents, annotated books, and a closed laptop.
"Look at this, Klein..." he said, holding up a sheet filled with unreadable data and code names. "Our friend's been playing detective."
Klein didn't reply. He stayed by the wall, eyes fixed on Lars.
"Dominion? Pentagrams? Who do you think you are?" Hermann asked, tossing the papers back on the desk with disdain.
"Told you—I don't talk to strangers," Lars replied firmly.
Hermann slowly turned his head toward him and gave a cold smile. "Then let's get acquainted, shall we?"
With a swift motion, he shoved Lars against the wall. A picture frame crashed to the floor.
"Who gave you those names? Why are you messing with this?"
"I don't have to answer you!" Lars shouted, struggling.
Hermann punched him in the stomach—hard and fast. Lars doubled over, coughing.
"If you keep that attitude, this conversation's going to get a lot uglier," Hermann warned.
"That's enough," Klein said, calm but firm.
"Really?" Hermann snapped. "Now you're defending him?"
Klein stepped forward and locked eyes with Lars. "No..." he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
His gaze pierced Lars'. For a few seconds, time seemed to stop.
He saw the girl. Her laughter. The moment she disappeared. The body. The cold. The rage. The name "Florian" scribbled in a bloodstained notebook. And the vow: "I'll destroy them."
Klein looked away, as if he had witnessed something he wished he hadn't.
"Something terrible happened to him," he said coldly. He leaned toward Hermann and whispered what he had seen in Lars' mind.
Lars turned toward him, cautious. "And how do you know that?"
"I just do," Klein stated firmly.
Lars leaned against the wall, still gasping. "Are you going to kill me?"
"If we wanted you dead," Hermann said, "you'd have been dead the moment you saw us."
"Then what do you want?"
This time, Klein replied: "To understand why you were investigating all this. But now… we understand."
Hermann stepped forward. "For now, you've got more questions than answers. But that can change... if you stop acting like a fool."
Lars raised his head. "I'm going after the Meyerns. All of them. I'm going to take them down, one by one."
The silence grew heavier. Hermann exchanged a glance with Klein. "You hear that?" he muttered.
Klein nodded, serious. "So they were the ones who killed his daughter," he said.
Lars took a deep breath. "They dragged me into the deepest hell. Now it's their turn."
Klein crossed his arms. "Dominion doesn't feed on revenge. We don't seek evil. But there's someone who must decide if you'll continue down this path… or if it ends here."
"Who?" Lars asked.
"You'll know soon," Klein replied.
And for the first time—though his words were measured—something in his voice hinted at a glimmer of respect.