"What is this place?" Lars asked, overwhelmed by what he saw. He looked around: beyond the temple walls, countless souls screamed, desperate to enter. An invisible barrier held them back, preventing access.
The demon's eyes—red, unblinking—watched Lars with unnatural patience.
"We are in the Abyss," it said in a cavernous voice. "If you desire my power… you must give something in return."
The Abyss!
"And who exactly are you supposed to be?" Lars shot back, defiant. The demon's face twisted in anger; it did not tolerate such insolence.
"Whose souls do you think those are?" it roared. The ground shook with every word.
"They belong to those who dared speak to me as you just did. You must worship me, human! Kneel before you address me!"
With a gesture, the barrier vanished. The souls rushed toward the temple, advancing like a tide of screams.
Lars staggered back, fear clenching his chest, as the spectral hands reached for him. Then the demon's voice thundered again:
"Tell me, before you join them and remain trapped here forever… what are you willing to give in exchange for my power?"
Lars closed his eyes. His fingers clutched the jewels of his daughter. Memories overwhelmed him: Jenny's first steps, the first time she called him "dad," the laughter, the little moments of happiness. And then… the image that haunted him most: his daughter lying lifeless on the table, himself powerless, unable to save her. The faces of Florian and the Meyerns intruded on his thoughts, fueling a hatred so intense that dark vapor began to pour from his body.
He opened his eyes, falling to his knees before the entity. With a raw, guttural cry, he proclaimed:
"I'll give you whatever you want!"
The demon grinned, revealing an endless row of teeth. "From now on, your life… your soul… your memories… your sight. One of them shall be mine."
An unbearable burn seared through Lars's right wrist. The pain made him roar in agony. Black fire erupted over his skin, spreading slowly, etching a blazing symbol. When the flames died out, a dark pentagram remained; at its center, the head of a goat stared back, alive with sinister intent.
A sharp crack rang out—and suddenly, Lars was back in the hall with the others. He collapsed to the floor, gasping, clutching his searing wrist. The pain was unbearable, as if the flesh were being consumed from within by the dark flame that had branded him.
Everyone sat in silence, watching him. Only Sigmund stood apart, rigid, a revolver in hand.
Klein rose from his chair, approaching cautiously. Lars looked at him for a moment, then turned his head toward Sigmund: five meters away, the gun's barrel aimed straight at his forehead.
"Lars? Is it you?" Klein asked carefully.
Lars did not answer. He could barely hear; the ritual drained body and spirit, and sometimes it took seconds—minutes even—for the senses to return.
Sigmund raised his free hand to warn Klein. "Don't come closer."
Klein froze, eyes fixed on Lars. "Answer me, Lars…" he pressed.
Finally, Lars parted his lips, his voice a faint whisper. "Yes… it's me. Relax."
Sigmund's finger eased off the trigger. He lowered the weapon with a sigh. "Good. I didn't have to shoot."
Lars stared at him, confused and frightened. "Why…?"
Klein crouched beside him, helping him up, whispering with grave seriousness:"There is a demon, one of the worst. Instead of granting power, it fully takes over the body of whoever makes the contract. We call it a Calamity. If one ever reaches this world, there's no way to contain it… so we must eliminate the host before it awakens."
"Sigmund's weapon is loaded with blessed bullets," he added in a hushed tone. "It's the only way to kill them."
Lars swallowed hard. "And what if the person isn't possessed… just unable to answer?"
Sigmund, holstering his revolver and gathering the ritual objects, replied without turning back:"Not everything goes the way we want. We can't take that risk."
The hall doors creaked open. The two hooded figures stepped aside, letting Sigmund pass. He left without looking at anyone. Amelia and Lauren followed silently.
Klein held Lars by the arm, helping get to the previous room. The air there was lighter, but tension still lingered.
"What happens now?" Lars asked, his voice still trembling.
Lauren returned with an ancient book in her hands. She set it on the table and opened it carefully."Give me your hand."
Lars tried to move his arm but could barely lift it. Lauren leaned closer and took his right wrist, turning it to examine the burning mark. Her eyes narrowed.
"Is that… a goat?"
"Looks like it… though not an ordinary one," Klein muttered, bending closer.
Lauren flipped through pages frantically, murmuring to herself as she searched. At last, she struck her finger down on a faded illustration."Here… there's no doubt."
She raised her gaze to Lars. "Your demon is Akuma."
"What?" Lars frowned.
"It's the demon you made your contract with, according to your mark. The book is clear." She turned more pages, continuing: "It says here the demon wields black flames and possesses superhuman strength."
Before Lars could ask further, Sigmund's grave voice echoed from the staircase:"Your mission will be to discover how to wield those powers. Two people here will help you master them; they will also accompany you on the missions you are to fulfill."
Those were his last words before leaving. He climbed the stairs and disappeared into his room.
Klein stood, noticing the evening light fading. "Lars, we should eat."
"Don't forget it's Christmas today," Amelia said with a tired smile.
The four of them went to an elegant dining room, where they began to eat and talk. The warmth of the candles contrasted with the memory of the Abyss. For a few hours, the tension seemed to fade.
Later, everyone retired to bed.
Lars once again fell prey to nightmares. He ran aimlessly through a vast darkness, until he heard the sweet voice of a little girl calling him:"Why didn't you save me?"
He woke with a start, drenched in sweat, throat dry. Rising, he went straight to the shower, letting the cold water drag him back to reality.
At seven in the morning, he went down the stairs. No one was in the hall, so he headed for the kitchen. There, he found two servants: a man around sixty-five and a woman, twenty-eight. They were preparing breakfast, surrounded by tempting aromas.
"Hello, good morning."
Both turned in surprise. "Good morning, sir. What are you doing here?" asked the man.
"It smelled so good, I had to see what it was," Lars replied with a smile.
The man smiled kindly, though somewhat uneasy. "Thank you, but you're not supposed to be here."
Lars looked at him, puzzled. "Uh… why not?"
The woman intervened nervously. "Because none of you ever come here. It's rare for us to deal with any of the members."
"What are your names?" Lars asked, curious.
"Eva," she answered.
"Osvaldo," the man added.
"Nice to meet you. I won't bother you further." He headed for the exit, but before leaving, he told them with a genuine smile: "We'll chat another time."
Both exchanged surprised looks after he left.
Lars walked down a long corridor and met Amelia, dressed in an elegant suit.
"Hi, how did you wake up, Amelia?"
"Very well. And you? How was your first night in the palace?" She took his arm, and they began walking together. "Look, let me show you: this is the library, and further ahead are the medical supplies."
They walked for several minutes until they reached the end.
"This place is huge… how do you keep all this running?"
Amelia stopped and looked at him seriously. "The people who hire us are usually millionaires. They pay us well. We're an organization known by very few, but those who do know us wield great political and business power."
She leaned toward him, lowering her voice. "What's strange is that you found us… although Klein already told me how you learned of our existence."