[Sergeant Harris – POV]
The rain hadn't let up since morning. Thick gray clouds hung low over the city as their transport van rumbled through the industrial sector. Harris sat up front, helmet resting on his knee, eyes on the half-burned factory they were closing in on.
"Orders are simple," he said, voice flat. "Clean sweep. Kill all targets. Leave one breathing for containment. That's it."
Behind him, Evie nodded while locking her rifle into place.
Michael didn't say anything, just stared through the rain-streaked window.
[Evie – POV]
The factory was a ruin. Rust, broken glass, black mold—typical of places the veil liked to fray.
Evie led with her light raised, breathing slow and steady. She expected a fight, but there was no ambush. Just movement in the shadows, low whimpers, and the soft rustle of wings or limbs dragging.
"These things aren't trying to fight," she muttered under her breath.
"They'll change their minds fast," Harris replied, checking corners.
She wasn't so sure.
[Michael – POV]
Michael walked in silence, boots crunching over broken tile. The demons weren't aggressive. Not even defensive. Most were smaller than the average hound—thin, hunched, desperate.
One of them—barely waist height—backed up and dropped its weapon before he even looked at it.
He killed it anyway. That was the job.
Still, something tugged at him. Not guilt. Just observation.
'They're not soldiers. Just escapees.'
They reached the back of the factory. And there it was.
A gate.
Half-open, unstable, a ripple in the wall. One of the big ones—twice his usual size—was pushing against it, trying to force it wider.
Michael raised his weapon, but Harris took the shot first. The body slumped into the light and vanished.
[The Demon Mother – POV]
She crouched beneath broken scaffolding, cradling her son.
"Shhh," she whispered in Makaian, stroking the side of his face. "Stay still. Don't breathe too loud."
The others were dying. She could hear it—the clean cracks of rifles, the heavy thumps of collapsing bodies. Her people were trying to run. None made it.
Then one passed her hiding spot. He stopped. Turned.
Eyes like stone, unreadable.
She stood slowly, spreading her arms around her son, trembling but defiant.
"Please," she said, voice low and clear. "Don't hurt him. Just him."
[Michael – POV]
He understood her perfectly.
Of course he did.
It wasn't strange. Not to him.
He remembered Makaian—the old tongue, the tone, the way meaning carried behind the words. He had spoken it once, when he didn't walk in human skin.
She wasn't begging to trick him. She wasn't a threat. She was just a mother.
And he hesitated.
For half a second.
"Michael!" Harris barked behind him.
The moment passed.
[Sergeant Harris – POV]
He saw the hesitation. Not much, but enough.
Harris grabbed Michael by the shoulder. "Hesitation gets you killed. Next time, don't let it happen."
Michael nodded once.
Evie was already at the other end of the room.
"Gate's collapsing," she called out. "We don't have long."
"Then let's finish it."
[Evie – POV]
The last group was clustered near the boiler tanks. A few of them tried to run. One even dropped to its knees and raised its arms.
Evie shot it anyway.
She caught a glimpse of Michael through the smoke. He moved differently now. Quieter. He wasn't rushing like Harris, or smooth like her. He was… thinking. Always thinking.
She didn't like that.
[The Demon Child – POV]
He didn't understand the words the man said. But he remembered the face.
The one who saw them.
The one who didn't shoot—at first.
Then the loud crack. His mother collapsed.
He screamed until his throat tore.
[Michael – POV]
The clean-up was fast. Trucks rolled in, dragging steel crates behind them. The bodies were loaded without ceremony.
Harris filled out the post-op report.
Evie cleaned her gear.
Michael leaned against the truck, watching the gates of the factory shrink behind them.
The boy's scream still echoed in his ears.
It wasn't haunting.
But it was there.
Just a small thread.
'She only asked for one thing,' he thought. 'And I still pulled the trigger.'
He stared out the window the whole way back.
Not angry.
Not torn.
Just quiet.