Kristina sat quietly in her modest room, the soft glow of the lamp casting gentle shadows across the walls. Her gaze lingered on a photograph of her and Steven from better days, the edges worn from years of handling. A sigh escaped her lips, her fingers lightly brushing over the image. Her mind drifted to the man she once knew, the one who had changed so completely, so drastically, after making that fateful pact. She could still remember the warmth of his touch, the sparkle in his eyes before everything had spiraled into chaos.
Suddenly, the thunderous roar of a motorcycle broke her from her reverie. Her heart raced in her chest as she rushed to the window, pulling back the blinds just enough to glimpse outside. There, in the dimming light of the evening, she saw a figure—Alejandra Jones, the fiery rider. And beside her, a limp Steven.
Her pulse quickened as she watched Alejandra lower Steven to the ground, his body nearly lifeless. Without hesitation, Kristina tore herself from the window and dashed to the door. Every step felt like a drumbeat in her ears, her thoughts swirling. Was he alive? Was he okay?
The moment she opened the door, Alejandra was already there, gently laying Steven on the cushion. Kristina's breath hitched as she saw him—his face pale, blood staining his clothes. His eyes barely flickered open as he mumbled her name.
"Steven!" Kristina cried, rushing to his side. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she lightly shook him. "What happened to you? Are you okay?"
Alejandra looked on with a grin that seemed far too relaxed for the situation, her posture casual, like this was nothing out of the ordinary. "Relax, princesa," she said with a wink. "He's fine... just a little... rough around the edges."
Kristina glanced at Alejandra, her discomfort rising. The woman stood there, her jacket hanging open, revealing a boldness that seemed to permeate her very being. Alejandra's figure was confidently on display, and the way she carried herself only added to Kristina's unease.
Kristina quickly turned her attention back to Steven. Her fingers brushed against his bloodied shirt, her eyes brimming with concern. "You're hurt... so badly," she murmured, almost to herself. The sight of his injuries sent a chill through her body.
But Alejandra, unfazed, let out a chuckle, rolling her shoulders as she leaned against the wall. "It's nothing, really. Just a scratch here and there. Don't worry, he'll heal. The Rider's healing power isn't a joke."
Kristina, still not entirely understanding what Alejandra meant, glanced at her with confusion. "The Rider?"
Alejandra nodded, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, sweetie, don't act like you don't know. You're not fooling anyone. He's not just Steven anymore, you know. He's something more. Something different." She stepped closer to Steven, brushing a lock of his hair from his face. "He'll survive. He always does."
Kristina could hear the teasing note in Alejandra's voice, but she pushed it aside, her focus still on Steven. Her heart clenched as he groaned, his eyes opening slightly, meeting hers.
"Kristina..." His voice was weak, strained, like a distant whisper.
Kristina's hand cupped his cheek gently, her heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable. Without thinking, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. It was a kiss full of emotion, full of desperation, of hope that he would be okay. As she pulled away, she looked into his eyes, her breath shaky.
"You're going to be alright," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Steven's lips parted in an attempt to speak, but the effort seemed too much for him. He reached out weakly, his fingers brushing against her skin.
"I'm sorry..." he whispered hoarsely.
Alejandra, watching the tender moment from her position, raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "You really think you can fix him with kisses, huh?" she asked, her voice dripping with something darker. "Trust me, Kristina. He's not the man you remember. Not anymore."
Kristina shot her a glare, but Alejandra's smirk only grew. With a small shrug, she turned her attention back to Steven, her fingers brushing over his arm with a casual intimacy. "I'm just here to make sure he survives, sweetheart. The Rider's got his own way of doing things."
Kristina's jaw clenched as she sat back on her heels, her gaze never leaving Alejandra's face. The air between them was thick with unspoken tension, but Kristina's only focus remained on Steven, on the man who had become something else.
As if to break the silence, Alejandra leaned in closer to Steven, her voice soft but teasing. "You know, I've been around a lot of Riders. I've seen them come and go. And let me tell you something, Kristina: sometimes it's better to just let them be what they are." She placed a hand on Steven's forehead, her fingers brushing against his skin with an unsettling familiarity. "Trying to save him is only going to hurt you in the end. He's already chosen his path."
Kristina recoiled at the words, her emotions a swirl of confusion, anger, and fear. She wasn't ready to accept what Alejandra was saying. She couldn't. She wouldn't.
But as she looked down at Steven, barely conscious, his injuries seeming almost too much to bear, Kristina couldn't help but wonder if Alejandra was right. Had the man she loved truly gone too far? Had the Rider taken him so far away from her that there was no coming back.
***
The Caretaker sat alone in his study, the faint hum of a candle flickering in the quiet of the room. He was deep in concentration, his weathered hands clutching an old, tattered book of sacred shlokas as he murmured the ancient words under his breath. The verses filled the room with a calm sense of reverence, as if the very air around him was imbued with divine protection.
But that calm was soon shattered.
A strange feeling pricked at the back of his neck, something off... something unnatural. The Caretaker paused mid-chant, his grip tightening on the book as he raised his eyes, scanning the darkness outside the window. There was a presence—a dark, oppressive weight that seemed to press against his very soul.
Suddenly, the door burst open with a force that shook the wooden frame. He turned, eyes narrowing, to see a figure standing tall in the doorway. It was Wallow, his silhouette cloaked in the moonlight that barely filtered through the clouds.
"Who's there?" the Caretaker called out, gripping his shotgun, fingers steady despite the creeping dread.
Wallow stepped forward, his eyes glowing a deep, unnatural red. He was a demon, but there was something more to him, something far more terrifying than any creature of hell. The Caretaker grinned, his teeth showing as he sneered, "Looks like the devil's son has arrived."
Before Wallow could respond, another figure appeared beside him, like a shadow stretching out of nowhere. The Caretaker's instincts kicked in, and he fired his shotgun without hesitation. But the figure simply waved it aside, a cruel, mocking grin spreading across his face.
The Caretaker's eyes widened in shock as Blackout's hand shot out like a snake, grabbing him by the throat and lifting him off his feet. He gasped, struggling to breathe, but Blackout's grip tightened, and the air around him grew thick with an unnatural heat. "Pathetic. You old man. Where's the another piece?" Blackout said, a menacing emotion on his face.
"You think I'm like the others?" Blackout's voice was low and menacing, a growl that reverberated through the Caretaker's chest. "I'm the son of the devil. Not like that pathetic Blackheart you defeated decades ago."
With a brutal swing, Blackout threw the Caretaker to the ground. He barely had time to react before the demon's boots collided with his ribs, a sickening crunch echoing through the night. Blood spilled from the Caretaker's mouth, his body wracked with pain.
"Where's the other piece?" Blackout demanded, his tone cold and unforgiving.
The Caretaker, eyes wild with defiance, spat blood at Blackout's feet, letting out a mocking laugh. "You think you can scare me, demon?" he rasped, voice hoarse. "You don't know who you're dealing with."
But Blackout was relentless. He bent down, seizing the Caretaker by the hair, pulling his head back to expose his throat. "I'm not here to scare you," Blackout snarled. "I'm here to burn you to the ground."
With a snap of his fingers, Blackout's powers surged, dark and fiery, wrapping around the Caretaker's body, decaying his flesh, but not entirely. Something was protecting him. The power fizzled, as if something, or someone, was keeping him alive, shielding him from the full force of Blackout's abilities.
"Why isn't it working?" Blackout hissed in frustration, shaking the Caretaker violently.
The Caretaker grinned through his bloodied teeth, his voice barely a whisper, "You can't win, demon. Not when there's still someone watching over me."
Blackout let out a frustrated roar, smashing the Caretaker's head against the floor. "I will find it. And when I do, you will regret crossing me."
The scene ends with a sense of dread lingering in the air, as Blackout's fury grows. The Caretaker's mysterious protection hints at something more powerful at play, leaving a chilling anticipation for what's to come.