"We're… we're really alive." Diego let out a ragged breath and slid down the wall until his knees hit the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and I could see his whole body trembling.
I let myself fall flat on my back, staring at the ornate ceiling as if it might spell out some answer to what the fuck had just happened. We were alive—but Kai wasn't. He'd been torn apart by that thing, his head literally separated from his body. And Levi was gone too, erased in whatever rotten bargain Zadkiel had struck. One friend eaten. One friend we'd sacrificed. We were breathing, and somehow that felt obscene.
'I can still see Kai's face', I thought, squeezing my eyes shut. The way his eyes went wide when that thing's jaw unhinged. The spray of blood. The sound.
But closing my eyes made it worse. I could see it all more clearly—the arterial spray, the wet sound of teeth through flesh, the way his body had crumpled. I opened my eyes again and focused on the ceiling's decorative molding, anything to ground myself in the present moment.
A part of me kept insisting this had to be a dream. These monsters, this creepy mansion, the whole stupid-ass hiking trip that got us here in the first place—none of it could be real. Maybe if I just closed my eyes and counted to ten, I'd wake up on my mattress in my dorm room, hungover but safe.
But the pain in my arm was too real. The smell of blood—Kai's blood, my blood—was too real.
"I doubt you'll be alive for long," Zadkiel said, his voice carrying that strange theatrical lilt, almost cheerful. He squatted down gracefully, placing one finger on a red splotch on the tiled floor like he was examining a wine stain. "With this trail of blood, you'll probably attract a nasty herd of demons if you don't clean it up promptly. They do so love the scent of fresh mortality."
I flinched as pain lanced through my forearm—four deep gouges where the creature's claws had carved muscle to bone. I'd almost forgotten it while running, but now the dull blood-slick ache rolled back in like tidewater. The bleeding had slowed to small drips, but my sleeve was completely soaked, dark and wet.
'The most serious injury I've ever had was scraping my knee when I fell off my bike in third grade', I thought with bitter irony. 'This is so far beyond that I don't even have a reference point for the pain.'
The gouges threatened to pull me under, to drag me down into unconsciousness. I fought against it, blinking hard.
Zara noticed my pain and moved to my side, her usual bouncing energy replaced by sharp, nervous movements. Her hands were shaking.
"Shit. That's nasty," she said, tearing off a strip from her tank top without hesitation. She wrapped it around my forearm, and I flinched as fresh agony shot up to my shoulder. "Sorry. I don't even know what to do. I'm supposed to just stop the blood flow, right?"
She gave a nervous laugh that sounded more like a cry for help as she roughly tightened the cloth around my forearm, sending bolts of pain through my body. Her fingers were trembling so badly she had to try twice to tie the knot.
'Neither of us knows what we're doing', I realized. 'We're just kids. College kids who were supposed to be on a fucking nature walk.'
The wound probably needed to be cleaned with alcohol or something, and gouges this deep definitely needed stitches. But I had no idea how to actually do that. I wasn't a medicine student.
Kai had been the medicine student.
Fucking Kai.
Had it even been five minutes since we walked into this god-forsaken place? And that thing had just devoured him like an afternoon snack, tossed him away like he was nothing. Kai with his perfectly organized backpack and his moisture-wicking clothes and his plans for med school. Gone.
I looked around the room, trying to take stock of who was left.
Amara had stopped her hysterical repetitions. Now she sat completely motionless with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Her face was buried, and I couldn't tell if she was crying, catatonic, or passed out. She'd stopped trying to frame aesthetic shots. Her phone lay discarded on the floor beside her, screen cracked.
Diego was still slumped against the wall, his red bandana clutched in one fist, his eyes closed. His head kept shaking in tiny movements, like his body was physically trying to reject what had just happened. The bandana was stained with Kai's blood—we all had Kai's blood on us somewhere.
'I have blood on my shoes', I realized, looking down. Kai's blood on my Jordans. The ones I was complaining about ruining in the mud.
And Priya. Fucking Priya just stood there with her arms folded across her chest, her eyes fixed on Zadkiel with laser focus. While everyone else seemed to be in shock, she didn't look particularly frightened or horrified. Her jaw was clenched tight, her bottom lip red and swollen from where she'd been chewing it. She looked calculating. Analytical.
'She wanted me to be the one sacrificed', I thought with fresh bitterness. 'Just because I froze up when I saw one of my friends get fucking murdered. Like it wasn't a completely normal, completely human thing to do.'
Zadkiel himself just stood there, watching us with an expression that could only be described as amused. Like we were performers in a show he found mildly entertaining. He adjusted his bow tie with precise fingers, the gesture so casual it made me want to scream.
Zara decided to break the silence.
"Um… Mr.—sir—Lord Zadkiel?" She tried tentatively, her voice small.
Lord? I thought almost hysterically. She's already treating this man like he's a god. Then again, maybe he was. He was the one who'd destroyed that angel-monster without breaking a sweat, just by speaking some language that made reality bend. Who knew what else he was capable of?
"Don't bother with the honorifics, doll," Zadkiel said, waving a hand dismissively. His laugh was light and airy, like champagne bubbles. "Just call me Zadkiel. Or Zad, if you prefer."
The way he said it—casual, friendly, like we'd just met at a party instead of in a blood-soaked room—made my skin crawl.
"Okay… Zad?" Zara tried, stepping forward. Even she seemed to realize how weird the nickname sounded. "We all thank you for saving us from that monster, but my friend here—" She pointed at me, "—just suffered a serious injury. You've already demonstrated incredible power, so would you be able to treat him too?"
I held my breath, waiting for his answer. Hope flared in my chest despite everything. He'd saved us. Maybe he'd help. Of course he'd help. We made that stupid contract.
Zadkiel smiled, placing a hand in his pocket. The gesture was so casual, so practiced, like an old film star posing for the camera.
"Now, why would I do that?"
The hope died instantly.
"Why would you do that?!" Priya yelled, abandoning any pretense of respect. Her voice cracked with rage. "We just sacrificed our friend so you could protect us! We made a contract, so you have to help us!"
"No, darling," Zadkiel said, and his smile grew wider, showing those too-sharp teeth. "The contract was that you would sacrifice one of your own for protection against that fallen angel. And I protected you from that. Splendidly, I might add. And now our contract is over. Both sides fulfilled their obligations. Read the fine print next time."
His tone was light, cheerful, like he was explaining a simple misunderstanding.
"You bastard!" I shouted, getting up too fast and instantly regretting it. My vision blurred and white-hot pain erupted behind my eyelids, but that didn't stop me. Rage gave me strength. "We sacrificed Levi so you would save us! You can't start doing all this legal-shit, trying to find loopholes—"
"My exact words were 'One soul, freely given, and I can dispose of the creature hunting you,'" Zadkiel interrupted, his voice still pleasant but with an edge of steel underneath. "I never said anything about healing you afterward, and with that attitude, I'm not exactly inclined to help you either. Besides, this will teach you a valuable lesson about making contracts with other angels, if you ever live long enough to need it. Always, always clarify the terms, kiddos."
'No. No!' My mind raced frantically. Despite how much he pissed me off, this guy was our only hope of surviving, maybe even getting out of here. We couldn't afford to lose him now. We had nothing else. No weapons, no knowledge, no plan.
Zara, reading the room better than I had, decided to take another approach. She walked forward until she was a few feet away from Zadkiel, then got on her knees and bowed down until her forehead touched the floor. The gesture looked painful, humiliating.
"Please, Lord Zadkiel," she said, her voice muffled against the tile. "We can't do anything without you. You're our only hope. Surely you can at least heal Ethan and show us a way out of here? Please."
Zadkiel's handsome expression twisted slightly, and he actually looked annoyed. "Don't grovel, it's unbecoming. The only way I'll enforce a protection contract is if you have something valuable to offer me in return." He tilted his head, and the lamplight caught his glasses, making his eyes invisible again. "Do you?"
We all looked at each other. What could we possibly have? We were just a group of traumatized college kids trapped in a nightmare mansion. We had nothing this demi-god-like figure might find useful. Our phones barely worked. Our clothes were torn and bloody. We had no money, no skills, no leverage.
Zadkiel took our silence as his answer. "As I thought."
He turned around and began walking toward the demolished doorway, his shoes clicking precisely on the tile. Each step was measured, casual, like he had all the time in the world.
Then he paused and glanced back over his shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of something in his expression—not quite pity, but close. "Though, I'm not completely heartless, so I will tell you three important instructions you must follow if you want to last even a day here. Consider it a parting gift." He adjusted his glasses. "Are you ready, children?"
"We're ready," a voice behind me said. I turned to see Diego had finally removed his hands from his face. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, but they looked determined. Focused. Like he'd made some kind of decision while we weren't looking.
"Splendid. Number one," Zadkiel said, holding up one finger in a theatrical gesture. "You cannot escape the mansion."
My heart immediately sank like a metal block dropped into the ocean. I could physically feel all the energy drain from my body, leaving me hollow.
There is no escape. The words echoed in my mind. We're trapped here. Forever. We can never go back to the real world.
"As you've no doubt experienced firsthand, the entrance can no longer be found," Zadkiel continued with clinical detachment, like he was describing weather patterns. "That is how the mansion is designed, you see. It's meant to trap any mortal soul who enters. Forever. The architecture shifts, rearranges, itself. You could search for a thousand years and never find the door you came through."
I could see the energy deflate from the others too. Amara's shoulders slumped even lower. Priya's jaw clenched tighter. Diego's determined look wavered.
But that didn't mean we had to give up. Even if we were trapped here, none of us wanted to die either. There had to be something we could do, some way to survive.
'We survived this long', I thought desperately. 'We can figure this out.'
"Number two," Zadkiel continued, holding up a second finger. "Since the mansion is impossible to escape, don't let anyone else convince you otherwise. Any spirit or entity promising freedom cannot be trusted. If there was truly a way to leave, why would they still be here? So don't even entertain thoughts of escape. It will only lead to disappointment. And usually death."
The way he said it—so casual, so matter-of-fact—made it sound like he'd seen this play out a hundred times before. Maybe he had.
"And third?" Diego asked, his voice rough and tired.
"Ah, yes. Finally," Zadkiel said, and for the first time his expression grew serious. Almost grave. "Locked doors are better left locked."
He let the words hang in the air for a moment, and even though I couldn't see his eyes behind those round glasses, he seemed to have a faraway look. Like he was remembering something. Something bad.
"Don't go poking into business your eyes aren't meant to see," he continued quietly. "Don't open doors that are sealed. Don't investigate rooms that are barred. If something wants you to stay out, there's usually a very good reason. Trust me on this one, kiddos. I've seen what happens when people don't listen to that particular rule. It's never pretty."
The sudden shift in his tone—from theatrical to genuinely warning—sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with blood loss.
Without waiting for an answer or acknowledgment, Zadkiel's theatrical smile returned, bright and empty. He turned his back to us completely, placing his hands in his pockets.
"Good luck, everyone," he called over his shoulder, his voice echoing off the walls as he walked away. "Let's see how long this group lasts. I do so enjoy a good show."