The night had descended like a suffocating blanket, thick with the oppressive weight of darkness and the unmistakable scent of blood. Every street corner was a potential warzone, the city’s underbelly writhing with violence and chaos as ruthless gangs staked their claim over turf, each one operating with unchecked brutality. The sound of gunfire had long since become the city’s lullaby, and the screams of the damned echoed from every alley. But tonight, something far worse had arrived—something even the gangs couldn't comprehend, couldn't prepare for.

  The Black Angel

  The moment his shadow touched the pavement, everything changed. His cloak billowed behind him like a living thing, swirling in the air with a malevolent energy that seemed to warp the very fabric of reality. Each step he took was a death sentence for anyone in his path, and the streets trembled in anticipation of the violence that was to follow.

  The first gang he encountered never stood a chance. They were armed with pistols, knives, and the arrogance that came with being untouchable in their territory. But none of it mattered when faced with the Black Angel. His speed was inhuman, a blur of motion that left bodies broken in his wake. His blade flashed through the air with surgical precision, severing limbs, slicing throats, and gutting men with a coldness that was almost poetic in its brutality.

  There were no cries of mercy, no desperate pleas for life. His victims didn't even have time to understand what was happening before they were reduced to nothing more than bloody stains on the ground. Their weapons fell uselessly to the floor, forgotten, as their lives were snuffed out with terrifying efficiency. He didn’t simply kill them—he erased them, leaving only death in his wake.

  It wasn’t a massacre. It was divine retribution.

  As the sound of bodies hitting the pavement echoed through the alleyways, Mike—hidden in the relative safety of his small store—could hear it all. The distant gunshots, the screams of terror, the sickening crack of bone snapping under the weight of unimaginable force. His stomach churned, every muscle in his body instinctively tightening with fear. He knew what was happening. The Black Angel had come to cleanse the streets, and no one, not even the most dangerous criminals, would be spared.

  Then, it happened.

  The door to Mike’s store rattled, the faintest creak of the hinges as it swung open. The air shifted, heavy and suffocating, as if the very presence of the Black Angel bent reality itself. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, the screams fading into a haunting silence that felt like the calm before a storm.

  Mike’s body froze, his heart slamming against his chest as he looked up to see the figure standing in the doorway. The Black Angel. His presence was a suffocating weight, a living nightmare that overshadowed everything. His eyes, cold and hollow, pierced through the darkness, and for a moment, Mike felt as if they were looking straight through him, seeing the very depths of his soul.

  The figure moved with a predator’s grace, stepping into the dimly lit store, each movement measured, deliberate, and terrifying. His cloak seemed to absorb the light around him, turning the space into a cavern of shadows. There was no warmth in his presence, no compassion or mercy—just the cold inevitability of death.

  Mike’s breath hitched in his throat as the figure locked eyes with him. His mind scrambled, trying to recall the events of the alley, the cryptic words of warning, the promise of something worse. And now, here it was, standing before him.

  "You…" Mike whispered, his voice barely audible, caught somewhere between disbelief and terror.

  The Black Angel didn’t speak for a moment. The silence between them was deafening, as if the world itself had paused, waiting for something. Then, his voice—low, guttural, and full of menace—rippled through the room.

  "Leave," he commanded. It wasn’t a request. It was an order, as cold and final as the inevitable arrival of death itself. "This is not your fight."

  Mike’s knees trembled, but something kept him rooted to the spot. Fear, yes, but something else too—a strange, almost paralyzing sense of awe. This man, this thing, had wiped out entire gangs with a flick of his wrist. And yet, he had not come for Mike. Not yet.

  Mike's mind screamed at him to flee, to run into the night and never look back, but his body refused to obey. He glanced outside, catching sight of the wreckage left in the wake of the Black Angel’s path. The streets were littered with the mangled bodies of men who thought themselves untouchable, their blood staining the ground beneath them. The screams were gone, replaced by a haunting silence. The Black Angel’s handiwork was everywhere.

  “You have no place here,” the Black Angel’s voice sliced through the air again, colder than the night itself. It wasn’t a threat—it was a final warning, a judgment that Mike had no choice but to heed.

  Mike could feel the weight of the decision press down on him, his body caught in the grip of fear and fascination. Should he run? Should he stay?

  He glanced once more at the door, at the figure standing in front of him—an unstoppable force of nature that had swept through the streets like a tempest. A brutal, unrelenting storm.

  With a sudden burst of adrenaline, Mike turned and bolted, throwing himself into the darkness of the night, his heart hammering in his chest. The door slammed shut behind him, but the Black Angel's presence still loomed over him, like a shadow that would never leave.

  As he ran, Mike could hear the distant sounds of violence continue—the crack of bones, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the pavement, the final breaths of the city's criminals exhaled in desperation.

  The Black Angel was still out there, cleaning the streets, but Mike knew one thing for certain: the nightmare wasn’t over. It was just beginning. And whoever crossed the Black Angel’s path would never have the chance to escape.

  Mike's chest rose and fell rapidly as he lay in his bed, sweat plastered to his skin, every inch of his body trembling. The images of the night were seared into his mind, playing out like a twisted movie reel that refused to stop. The blood, the gore, the feeling of being hunted—it was all too much. But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

  Outside, the city was silent—eerily so. The sounds of sirens, of life, were gone. The streets were dead. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of blood and burning flesh. Mike didn’t know what to make of the chaos anymore. The Black Angel, the High Rise Devil... they weren’t just men. They were monsters, and the city was their hunting ground.

  A sudden knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. His heart skipped a beat. The sound of it was soft but relentless, like a ghost calling out from the darkness. It wasn’t a normal knock. It was too rhythmic, too deliberate, like someone—something—was waiting for him to answer.

  Mike crawled off the bed, his body moving of its own accord. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stay put, to not open the door, but his legs carried him toward it anyway. He reached for the handle, hesitated, and then pulled it open.

  Standing on the other side was a figure, cloaked in shadow. It wasn’t the Black Angel, but the air around the person seemed to pulse with the same eerie energy, the same ominous weight. The figure’s face was obscured by a hood, but Mike could feel the eyes on him—cold, unblinking, predatory.

  "You should have stayed inside," the voice rasped, like gravel grinding against bone.

  Mike stepped back, instinctively retreating from the looming figure. But there was nowhere to go. The figure stepped inside, unfazed by the lack of invitation. Mike's heart pounded in his throat as he stumbled back, trying to process what was happening.

  "You’re not safe," the figure continued, voice low, guttural. "You’ve seen too much."

  Mike’s head spun, trying to find words, but his throat closed up, constricting in terror. Who was this person? What did they want with him?

  The figure reached out, grabbing Mike by the collar of his shirt with a grip like iron, lifting him off his feet with a sickening ease. Mike gasped, his chest squeezing in panic as he fought for air. He struggled, but the figure didn’t budge. Their grip was unyielding, like they were a force of nature, something that could break him without a second thought.

  "You're not the only one who’s being hunted," the figure said, its voice colder now. "You think the Black Angel is the worst thing out there? Think again. There are worse things waiting in the shadows. Things you can’t even imagine."

  Mike’s pulse hammered in his ears as he fought to stay conscious. His head was spinning, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but through it all, one thing was clear: the nightmare he’d been running from was only just beginning.

  With a flick of the figure’s wrist, Mike was thrown back against the wall. He hit it with a sickening thud, his head spinning from the impact. The figure loomed over him, dark and unfathomable.

  "You thought you were free," the figure whispered, their voice a venomous hiss. "But there is no freedom. You’re a part of this world now. Whether you like it or not."

  Mike’s vision blurred as his mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. Who were these people? What were they doing to him?

  The figure stepped closer, its presence suffocating, as if the very air around Mike had turned to lead. "You’ve seen the streets. You’ve seen the blood. It’s only a matter of time before you’re pulled deeper into this mess. But there’s one thing you need to know."

  Mike struggled to speak, to beg, to scream, but nothing came out. His voice was gone, his body a shell of fear and pain.

  The figure knelt down to his level, bringing their face close to Mike's. The coldness in their eyes was impossible to ignore. "There’s nowhere to hide. The Black Angel? He’s only the beginning."

  Before Mike could process what was happening, the figure vanished, disappearing as quickly and silently as they had come. All that was left was the lingering weight of their words. The air was thick with menace, and Mike realized, with a sickening certainty, that he was being pulled into something far darker than he had ever imagined.

  The streetlights outside flickered, casting fleeting shadows through the cracks in the blinds. Mike’s heart still hammered in his chest, and every inch of his body screamed to flee. But where could he go? How could he escape the nightmare that had just started to unfold?

  There was no way out. The world outside had become a predator’s den, and he—Mike—was just another helpless prey.

  Back home

  Mike lay in his bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The image of the High Rise Devil’s glowing red eyes haunted him, chasing him into his nightmares. His body was still tense, his heart beating too fast for comfort, as though it couldn’t shake off the adrenaline. The darkness of the room offered no solace, no escape from the horrors of the night.

  His mind kept replaying the encounter over and over. The Black Angel. The High Rise Devil. He could still hear the sickening crunch of bones as the creature had feasted on the body in the street. The way its wings had unfurled, spreading across the night sky like a monstrous omen. He had narrowly escaped, but for how long? The thought that the creature might be lurking just beyond the reach of the shadows filled him with dread.

  Mike didn’t know how long he had been lying there in the dark, but the silence of the night had become suffocating. His pulse still drummed in his ears, a constant reminder that he wasn’t safe, that the nightmare wasn’t over. And he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of world he was living in now—a world where monsters roamed the streets and men in black cloaks dealt out brutal justice.

  The clock ticked in the background, and Mike’s exhaustion began to catch up with him. His eyes slowly closed, but just as he drifted into a fragile sleep, the shrill ring of his phone jolted him awake. His body shot up in bed, the sudden movement sending pain through his limbs. He glanced at the screen, the name that appeared sending a chill through him.

  It was his brother, Danny.

  Mike didn’t hesitate. He answered the call, his voice shaky from the lingering fear.

  “Mike? Are you okay?” Danny’s voice sounded frantic, tinged with panic. “I just heard what happened. You’re not hurt, are you?”

  Mike swallowed hard, trying to steady his breathing. The events of the night were still too fresh in his mind, too raw. “I’m fine,” he lied. “But what the hell is going on, Danny? What did I just see out there?”

  Danny’s voice dropped lower, his tone serious. “You saw him, didn’t you? The Black Angel.”

  Mike’s stomach turned. The fact that his brother knew exactly what he had witnessed sent an eerie chill down his spine. “Yeah, I saw him,” Mike replied, his voice shaky. “But what I don’t get is... why? Why is he doing this? Who is he?”

  Danny was silent for a moment before answering. “He’s not just some vigilante, Mike. The Black Angel... he’s something else. Something that’s been in the shadows for years. But it’s not just him you need to worry about. You’ve heard of the High Rise Devil, right?”

  Mike’s stomach clenched. Of course, he had heard of the High Rise Devil. The stories had circulated for months, whispered by those who were foolish enough to get too close to the criminal underworld. A man—or something like a man—who tore through his enemies with savage brutality, leaving destruction in his wake.

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  “Yeah, I’ve heard the rumors,” Mike muttered, still trying to make sense of it all. “But what’s the connection between him and the Black Angel?”

  Danny exhaled sharply. “I don’t know all the details, Mike. But I’ve been digging into it. There’s something going on—something bigger than the street gangs. The Black Angel is hunting down people connected to a network of criminal organizations, and the High Rise Devil... he’s something else entirely. He’s not just a killer; he’s been feeding off his victims for years.”

  Mike felt a surge of anger rise within him. “Feeding off them? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know how to explain it,” Danny said, frustration creeping into his voice. “But this isn’t just some man who decided to terrorize the city for kicks. The High Rise Devil is part of something ancient, something connected to old myths and dark forces. They’re not just people, Mike. They’re monsters.”

  Mike’s head swam with confusion. It all felt like a bad dream, but it wasn’t. He had seen the destruction firsthand. The cold, calculated manner in which the Black Angel dispatched his enemies. The grotesque, unnatural figure of the High Rise Devil tearing into his prey. It wasn’t just a nightmare—it was real.

  Danny’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Listen to me, Mike. You need to get out of the city. You don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself involved in, and staying here is only going to make things worse. The Black Angel, the High Rise Devil... they’re not going to stop until they’ve completed whatever twisted mission they’ve set for themselves. And you being caught in the middle of it? It’s not something you can survive.”

  Mike felt his chest tighten. The thought of running, of leaving everything behind, felt impossible. His life—his friends, his family, his work—was all here. But what was left of it now? The city had turned into a war zone, and Mike was no longer just a bystander. He was a part of this twisted game, whether he liked it or not.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Mike said firmly, his voice stronger now. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m not going to run from it.”

  Danny was silent for a long moment, as if considering what to say next. Finally, he spoke, his tone softer. “You’re a fool if you stay, Mike. But I get it. Just... be careful. And if things get too bad, you call me. You hear me?”

  Mike nodded, even though his brother couldn’t see him. “I will. Thanks, Danny.”

  He ended the call and sat in the darkness, the weight of his brother’s words pressing on him. He was on his own now. No more excuses, no more safety nets. If he wanted answers, he was going to have to face the nightmare head-on.

  The Black Angel. The High Rise Devil. The destruction they wrought. The city was no longer his home; it was a battleground, and he was stuck in the middle of it.

  Mike knew what he had to do.

  He had to survive.

  Mike paced his bedroom, his thoughts racing a thousand miles an hour. His brother’s warning echoed in his ears: “You’re a fool if you stay, Mike.” But what was his other option? Fleeing would only prolong the inevitable. The night had opened his eyes to a world he didn’t understand, and now that he had seen it, he couldn’t just turn his back on it.

  He rubbed his face, exhaustion weighing heavily on him, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to rest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the High Rise Devil—about the way it tore into the body, feasting on it like an animal. The brutality of it all left him shaken. Feeding off his victims for years... what did that even mean? Mike couldn’t wrap his head around it, but one thing was certain: the monster wasn’t just some savage killer—it was something far worse.

  The thought of leaving the city gnawed at him. Could he even do it? Could he just pack up and vanish? What about his job? His life here? What would he even go to? A life on the run? Running from what? The monsters stalking the streets? The Black Angel and the High Rise Devil? How far could he go before they found him?

  He grabbed his phone and scrolled through the list of contacts. Everyone he cared about was in the city—he couldn’t leave them behind. He couldn’t. He had to stay and find answers. Find a way to stop this. To confront whatever had unleashed the chaos on this place.

  Mike grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on. The cold night air outside would be a relief—he needed a distraction from the torment that was gnawing at him. He couldn’t sit here, lost in his thoughts any longer. He needed to move. He needed to do something.

  The street outside his house was eerily quiet as he stepped out onto the curb, the silence broken only by the occasional distant siren or the sound of wind rustling through the trees. Mike’s eyes darted from shadow to shadow, every creak and whisper making his skin crawl. The city had never felt more hostile, more alive with unseen threats. He thought about the bodies he’d seen earlier—the twisted, mangled forms that had once been human. Had they been victims of the Black Angel or the High Rise Devil? Or were there even darker forces at play here, lurking just beneath the surface?

  He pulled his keys from his pocket and got into his car, starting the engine with a growl that cut through the silence of the night. As he drove through the dark streets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Every shadow seemed to hide a monster, every alleyway was a potential ambush.

  Mike didn’t know where he was going—he was just driving. He needed to clear his head, think. Maybe if he found the right place, the right people, he could begin to piece together what was really going on.

  He pulled into a parking lot, the dim lights casting long shadows across the ground. He didn’t know what he expected to find here, but something about this spot felt... significant. Like a place where answers might lurk, just beyond his reach.

  As he stepped out of the car, the night air hit him like a slap to the face. His breath came in shallow gasps as he took a few tentative steps forward, his senses on high alert. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something... wrong about this place.

  Suddenly, he heard a rustling sound behind him, a soft scrape of metal on concrete. Mike spun around, his heart leaping into his throat. There, just beyond the edge of the shadows, a figure stood.

  The High Rise Devil.

  Mike’s blood ran cold, and for a moment, he couldn’t move. The creature stood there, tall and imposing, its wings wrapped around it like a dark cloak. The air seemed to freeze as it took a step forward, the sound of its footsteps echoing in the empty lot.

  Then, in a voice that sent chills down Mike’s spine, the creature spoke.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  Mike took a step back, his mind scrambling for a way out. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

  This is it, he thought. This is where it ends.

  But then, before he could react, a blinding flash of light exploded in the sky above them, lighting up the night like the crack of thunder. The High Rise Devil let out an inhuman screech as it staggered back, its wings flaring out. For a split second, Mike saw the figure of a man, tall and imposing, standing on a nearby rooftop. His silhouette was barely visible, but the energy around him crackled with raw power. The man’s voice, amplified by the power of the storm, rang out.

  “Leave him alone.”

  The High Rise Devil hissed, its glowing red eyes narrowing in fury. But the figure on the rooftop was undeterred, his form radiating with a crackling energy that Mike couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

  The creature snarled one last time before spreading its wings wide and taking to the air, disappearing into the night, its screeching echoing in the distance.

  Mike stood frozen, his body shaking as the tension in the air slowly dissipated. He could hardly believe what had just happened. Was this some kind of hero? A savior? Or was he just another part of this twisted nightmare?

  The figure on the rooftop didn’t wait long. He vanished into the shadows as quickly as he had come.

  Mike was left alone, his heart still racing in his chest. He didn’t know who had just saved him—or if they had even saved him at all. But one thing was certain: the nightmare was far from over. And now, he was more deeply entangled in it than ever before.

  The following day, the city seemed to suffocate beneath an unseen weight, its streets swallowed by a dense fog that clung to every corner like a dark secret. Mike couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted, that the balance of the world around him had been disturbed. His usual walk through the city felt different today—heavy, as if each step pulled him deeper into a nightmare he couldn’t escape. The faces of the people walking by were just as indifferent as always, but the air around him buzzed with an unsettling energy that made his skin crawl.

  The memory of the Black Angel haunted him, lingering in the back of his mind like a shadow just out of reach. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something told him the angel was still watching, waiting, lurking just outside the edges of his awareness. That dark presence was enough to make him shiver despite the oppressive warmth of the day.

  And then there was the High Rise Devil. His eyes—the burning intensity of them—seemed to pierce through Mike’s thoughts like a searing flame. The man’s predatory nature had unsettled Mike to his core, and every time he closed his eyes, the image of those eyes seemed to burn into his mind again. The Devil wasn’t just a man. No, he was something else. Something monstrous.

  As Mike meandered through the alleyway near his apartment, lost in these thoughts, something caught his attention. A flicker. A movement so slight that anyone else might have missed it, but not Mike. His senses had been honed through years of survival in the chaos of this city, and whatever it was—it wasn’t supposed to be there. He froze, his pulse quickening, his mind racing.

  He wasn’t alone.

  His eyes snapped to the shadowed corner ahead, and there, standing in the gloom, was a figure. A man. Cloaked in shadow, he was barely more than a silhouette, but there was no mistaking the presence he carried. The air around him felt colder, heavier, as if the very darkness itself had clung to him. Mike’s breath caught in his throat. He knew that man. Not from here—not from the streets. But somewhere else. Somewhere deeper. Somewhere dangerous.

  The figure’s eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, predatory and knowing, and the silence between them stretched taut, thick with unspoken tension. Mike instinctively reached for the knife tucked in his pocket, his fingers brushing the cold steel. But before he could even draw it out, the man’s voice broke the stillness—low, gravelly, almost like it had been dragged from the depths of a forgotten hell.

  “You’ve been running from something, haven’t you?” The words were a challenge, not a question. The man’s lips barely moved, but his voice carried the weight of an ancient understanding, something that Mike couldn't quite grasp but felt all the same.

  Mike’s eyes narrowed, a flash of suspicion igniting inside him. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice hoarse. The tension in the alley was thick, suffocating. He could feel the pulse of the city vibrating through his bones, like the world itself was waiting for something to happen.

  The man smiled, and it wasn’t a friendly smile. It was cold, knowing, almost predatory. It was a smile that sent a chill straight through Mike’s veins. “Let’s just say I’m someone who knows what’s coming,” he replied, his voice carrying a weight that Mike couldn’t ignore. “And you don’t want to be in the way when it arrives.”

  Mike’s mind reeled as the words sank in. What did the man mean? What was coming? And why did it feel like he was talking about something far worse than anything Mike had ever faced? His instincts screamed at him to act—to draw the knife, to fight back—but something in the man’s demeanor kept him frozen. The man didn’t move, didn’t raise a hand, but his presence alone was enough to make Mike feel like prey in the presence of a predator.

  Before Mike could respond, before he could even think, the man’s figure seemed to fade into the shadows, melting away like smoke on the wind. One moment, he was there, and the next—nothing. It was as if the man had never been real at all, as if the very darkness had consumed him whole.

  Mike stood there, his heart pounding, his hands trembling at his sides. His mind was racing, trying to process what had just happened. Had it been a threat? A warning? Or something worse? Had he just encountered someone far more dangerous than the monsters that haunted these streets?

  The alley was silent again, but the unease that gripped Mike’s chest didn’t fade. He looked around, half-expecting the man to appear again, but there was no sign of him—just the quiet hum of the city and the distant sound of car engines in the background.

  For a long moment, Mike stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. The city felt smaller now, suffocating, like it was closing in on him. There were things out there—things far worse than he had ever imagined—lurking in the shadows, waiting for their time to strike.

  With a deep breath, Mike finally forced himself to move. But even as he walked away, the words of the mysterious man echoed in his mind: “You don’t want to be in the way when it arrives.”

  Whatever was coming, Mike was certain of one thing. It was only a matter of time before it would find him—and when it did, he wouldn’t be ready.

  A sudden, violent crash shattered the fragile silence of Mike’s bedroom. The sound of breaking glass sent a jolt of electricity through his spine as he shot up from his bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. He barely had time to react before the room was plunged into chaos—shards of glass scattered across the floor, the cold night air rushing in through the gaping hole in his window.

  His breath hitched. His body tensed.

  Something had been thrown into his room.

  Slowly, cautiously, Mike swung his legs off the bed and stood up, his feet crunching over the shattered remains of his window. His hands trembled as he reached for the bedside lamp, illuminating the destruction.

  And then he saw it.

  A brick.

  But it wasn’t just any brick. It had been lodged inside the mouth of something that made his stomach lurch—something grotesque, something human.

  A severed head.

  Mike staggered back, his breath leaving him in a ragged gasp. His mind refused to process what he was looking at, but his eyes wouldn’t let him deny it. The head belonged to a man—his skin pale, his eyes wide open in a frozen expression of horror, as if he had seen his own death coming. Blood dripped from the jagged edges of his severed neck, staining Mike’s floor in a dark crimson pool.

  For a moment, all Mike could do was stare, his brain shutting down in sheer terror.

  Then he saw the note.

  It was tucked inside the man’s mouth, nestled between his lips and the brick, soaked in blood. With shaking hands, Mike reached forward, careful not to touch the head itself. He swallowed hard and pulled the paper free, unfolding it with unsteady fingers.

  The message was simple.

  “You’re next.”

  Mike’s entire body went ice-cold.

  The words burned into his mind, sinking deep into his bones. He clenched his fists, trying to steady himself, trying to breathe. But his pulse was racing too fast, his skin slick with sweat despite the chill.

  His first instinct was to run—to bolt out of the house, out of the city, to anywhere but here. But where the hell would he even go? This wasn’t a simple threat. This was a declaration. Whoever—or whatever—had done this was watching him. They had been close enough to throw a severed head through his damn window.

  The thought sent his paranoia skyrocketing. He turned sharply, scanning his darkened bedroom as if expecting something to crawl out of the shadows. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

  Was the killer still out there?

  Was he being watched right now?

  Mike inched toward the broken window, his bare feet crunching over glass, his pulse hammering in his ears. He took a slow, careful look outside. The street was empty. The neighborhood was eerily silent, untouched by the horror that had just crashed into his world.

  No figures lurking in the shadows. No footsteps running away.

  But that didn’t make him feel any safer.

  His hands curled into fists. Think, Mike. THINK. This wasn’t a random act. This was targeted. Someone—or something—wanted him dead.

  The Black Angel? The High Rise Devil?

  Or something worse?

  His stomach twisted at the thought.

  He took a step back, grabbing his phone from his nightstand, his fingers flying across the screen as he dialed Danny’s number. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

  “Come on, pick up, pick up—”

  Danny finally answered. “Mike?” His voice was groggy, laced with confusion. “What the hell, do you know what time it is—?”

  “They sent me a message,” Mike cut in, his voice barely above a whisper. He could still feel the weight of the severed head in the room, as if it had infected the air itself. “They threw a head through my damn window, Danny.”

  A beat of silence.

  Then Danny’s voice turned sharp. “What?”

  “There’s a human head on my floor with a brick in its mouth, and there was a note. ‘You’re next.’”

  More silence. Mike could hear his brother breathing on the other end, heavy and slow. Then, finally—

  “Listen to me,” Danny said, his voice dangerously serious. “Get out of that house. Right now.”

  Mike swallowed hard, glancing around his room, his paranoia climbing to unbearable levels.

  Danny continued, his tone urgent. “Whoever sent that message isn’t playing games, Mike. They’re watching you. They know where you live. If you stay, you’re a dead man.”

  Mike hesitated, his mind at war with itself. He wanted to believe he could handle this, that he could stand his ground and fight back. But this? This was something else.

  The High Rise Devil had been terrifying enough. But this?

  This was personal.

  Mike clenched his jaw. No more waiting. No more hiding. He didn’t know what kind of nightmare he had been dragged into, but he had two choices: run or fight.

  And he was done running.

  He reached under his bed, pulling out a duffel bag. His hands worked quickly, stuffing in clothes, a knife, his wallet, anything he might need. His mind raced with a thousand questions, but there was only one thing he knew for sure.

  If they wanted him dead...

  They were going to have to try a hell of a lot harder.