Chapter 118
Nirma's eyes widened, his chest trembling as a sudden understanding surged forth like a flood in the dry season.
That unfinished message, though cut off and unclear, indicated something far greater than the mere murder of eighteen crusader soldiers in Constantinople.
There was a hunt.
There was a target.
There were dozens of individuals—highly significant in the transmission of the Hadith of the Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him)—who had become the prey of these creatures.
Leontios, or rather the Abnormal hidden within the body of that former slave, was attempting to send coordinates, attempting to call for reinforcements, attempting to arrange a meeting at one of the most crucial moments in Islamic history.
Nirma turned toward Arya, and at the same moment, Arya had already moved first—his hand reaching into his robe, pulling out a small brown date seed that appeared no different from the ones sold in the markets of Constantinople.
Arya gripped the seed tightly, feeling a warm vibration spreading from the tiny object into his palm, then spoke in a voice raised just enough to be heard by Leontios, who was still emitting the rainbow flare from his throat.
"Leontios Chalkeus—or whatever your true name is—it would be best if you take responsibility for your actions in killing eighteen people connected to the crusader forces. Emperor Alexios I awaits your answer at the palace, not here, not like this."
The words flowed quickly from Arya's mouth, and without waiting for any reaction, he crushed the date seed with all his strength.
The small object pulsed once, twice—then Arya hurled it straight toward Leontios with a precise throwing motion, like a javelin thrower trained for thousands of hours.
In midair, along its trajectory toward Leontios, the seed began to change—evolving in an instant—expanding, flattening, forming a gleaming silver disc that reflected the rainbow light of Leontios' flare.
The disc shot forward, reaching Leontios in a fraction of a second, and right above his head—at the point where the rainbow flare emerged from his throat—it exploded into millions of light particles that rapidly formed a circular barrier, a transparent dome shimmering like a massive soap bubble.
In an instant, the rainbow flare was cut off—blocked—no longer able to pierce the Thracian sky, no longer able to send its message to anyone across other dimensions.
The frequencies that had been spreading throughout the universe suddenly stopped, reflected back into Leontios himself, causing his body to convulse violently.
Leontios screamed again—but this time, it was different.
Not a scream of triumph or farewell, but a scream of frustration—the cry of a being whose plan had utterly failed—yet to the Prefect's soldiers, it sounded like nothing more than the desperate rage of a fugitive.
Realizing that his message had been blocked before it could be delivered—that the secret frequency he had sent across dimensions had now rebounded into his own body—Leontios growled, his voice no longer fully human.
With shocking speed for someone who had just been beaten and bound, he lunged forward.
His tied hands behind his back did not stop him from charging at Arya and gripping the man's shoulders with such force that Arya winced in pain.
"What have you done, you foolish human?" he roared, shaking Arya like a rag doll, his eyes beginning to glow red with pure hatred.
"Do you know what you've just done? Do you know how long I've prepared this? How long I've waited for the chance to send that message? And you—you lowly human—dare to cut it off halfway?"
The shaking grew stronger, more violent, until Arya nearly lost his balance.
But before Leontios could continue his rampage, another hand seized the back of his robe, yanking him so hard that he was thrown backward.
Nirma—with strength that belied his slender frame—had pulled Leontios away, sending him rolling across the ground three full turns.
Dust scattered, small stones flew, and when Leontios finally stopped, he lay flat on his back, gasping for breath, confusion filling his face.
Nirma gave him no time to recover.
He stepped forward, bent down, and with swift precision, grabbed the front of Leontios' collar, pulling him close until their faces were only inches apart.
In that moment, Leontios saw something in Nirma's eye—something that sent a chill through him—something he could not explain, something hidden behind that single eye that was both empty and full of meaning.
Then Nirma's fist struck his right cheek—hard, precise—sending his head snapping to the side.
The second blow to the stomach knocked the breath out of him instantly.
The third blow to the nose cracked cartilage, sending blood spraying everywhere.
In a fleeting instant, before his consciousness was completely overwhelmed by pain, Leontios felt something cold wrap around his neck.
Nirma's cross necklace—the sacred object he had held earlier—had now been transferred, encircling Leontios' neck like a chain that was both holy and terrifying at once.
Leontios screamed.
Not an ordinary scream—not one of anger or physical pain—but a scream from the deepest core of his being, the cry of a creature touched by something sacred—a scream no human could ever fake.
He tried to grab the necklace with his still-bound hands, tried to remove it—but every time his fingers touched the cross, an overwhelming surge of heat spread through his body, forcing him to scream even louder.
Amid those screams, Nirma began to chant—his lips moving rapidly, reciting exorcism incantations typical of the year 1101 AD, ancient Greek words spoken fluently, with conviction, with undeniable power.
"Come out, savage Abnormal. Leave the human body you have seized. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, in the name of all saints in heaven, in the name of the risen Christ, I command you—depart, return to the abyss from which you came."
The Prefect's soldiers who witnessed this scene—under the influence of Arya's projection device—saw nothing more than a routine exorcism occasionally performed by priests upon the possessed.
They did not see what was truly happening before Nirma and Arya.
They did not see how, from Leontios' body, something began to emerge—something shapeless yet real, something pitch-black yet strangely luminous, something pulsing and writhing like a living entity unwilling to leave its host.
That foreign substance seeped slowly from the pores of Leontios' skin, from his mouth, from his nose, from his ears, from every opening in his body—gathering in the air above him, forming a swirling dark mass like a vortex.
Leontios continued to scream—but his voice grew weaker, more distant, like an echo rising from the depths of a bottomless well.
And when that dark mass finally detached completely—hovering for a fraction of a second before vanishing with a hiss audible only to Nirma and Arya—Leontios' empty body collapsed to the ground, unconscious, unmoving, his chest rising and falling faintly, the only sign that life still remained within him.
To be continued…