The sound came again. He located it immediately. "Under the bedcovers." A thought sparked, and his hand ignited. Something crawled out from under the blanket. It was small. At first glance, it resembled a worm. A closer look made him shudder. "Not a worm, a parasite," it struck him instantly.

It had a round mouth with countless rows of sharp teeth. "Wait, a parasite? Could it be...?"

A loud bang behind him made him jump. He turned his gaze toward the door. "Azrael, what is—"

In that moment, the parasite shot toward him with lightning speed. It emitted a joyful clicking sound. Like a silver flash, a sword cut through the air. Azrael had acted instinctively. The parasite’s body fell to the ground, split in two.

"Insane worms, Lyren, they're parasites. They're the cause. I just read about it in a book. I wasn't sure until now, but now..." he pointed at the parasite.

Lyren understood. "Finally, we know the cause. We can do something about it, right?"

A bell announced 12 o'clock. Silence fell for a brief moment. A scream, then another, and then more. A tremendous chaos erupted. Suddenly, everything became loud. Laughter, crying, shouting, roaring, cursing, pleading—all mixed together in a chorus of chaos.

"Damn it, we're too late," Azrael groaned desperately.

"What do you mean?" Lyren grabbed him by the shoulders, trembling.

"The book said the anomaly starts slowly. In the advanced stage, the affected become nicer, more normal, and stranger. They show different signs of calm madness. But once this phase ends..." His words faltered for a moment.

A bone-chilling scream made them both flinch. "It ends in complete madness. In a huge massacre. A boundless bloodbath. And... the affected are incurable."

Lyren stood there. His gaze had already lost focus. His entire body trembled. No thought stirred within him. Only the image of his smiling mother lingered in his mind. The indestructible smile. It seemed so distant to him now.

"Lyren, please pull yourself together. You need to think. I've been in a similar situation. Please believe me, you'll regret doing nothing."

Lyren began to laugh. His laughter turned into a hollow scream. "So what? Who cares? Life? Why would I still want that? My reason is gone now. What do you expect? That I kill my mother?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I expect. Kill her with your own hands. Think about it carefully. Do you want someone else to do it? Do you need a reason to live? I'll give you one. Do you think these worms spread on their own? No, they're far too useless for that. Someone else must be behind it."

Lyren stared at his friend with lifeless eyes. "Kill? You want me to kill my own mother? Are you serious?" A loud, angry scream escaped his dry lips.

His mother's face simply wouldn't disappear. He didn't want to see it anymore. He couldn't take it anymore. He drew a knife and pointed it at his throat.

Azrael watched. He said nothing more. He had done all he could. The rest was entirely up to Lyren.

Lyren's hand trembled. Salty tears ran down his pale face.

"Dammit, damn it, damn it. I can't do it. I can't do it. Why? Why is all this happening?"

The knife lowered. His gaze grew sharper. "I can die later. But right now, I want to kill. Not myself, but the guilty ones. Or maybe everyone. They must burn. They will burn. Ache is all that remains."

The mark on his hand darkened further.

They stared silently into each other's eyes. Flames burned in Lyren's eyes. Wild and insane. In Azrael's green eye, a hot ember glowed. A volcano, ready to erupt.

Azrael didn't waste any words. He walked to the window and threw it open. A gentle sunbeam greeted him warmly and kindly. But at the sight before him, even he froze. He had prepared himself for the worst. What he saw, however, far exceeded his imagination.

The people were no longer gathered in one place. By the sounds, they had spread throughout the village. Before his window stood a man, grinning wildly as he slammed the head of a little girl against the wall over and over. The girl was bleeding all over her body. Her delicate white cotton dress was covered in red stains.

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Behind this person, another man threw stones at a small boy. With each hit, the boy let out a bone-chilling scream.

In the background, black smoke rose into the sky. A young woman ran screaming around a house corner. In her arms, she held a severed arm. With each step, she left a trail of blood. "Don't die, don't die," she begged the arm.

A broad-shouldered man appeared behind her. "Come here, darling. Stay still. We wanted a boy anyway. The girl was useless. Stay still. I'll make you a boy."

Only then did Azrael notice the woman's torn dress. Her breasts were barely covered.

The man stared at her greedily. Within seconds, he caught up to her. With a strong push, he threw her to the ground, then climbed on top of her struggling body.

Azrael could no longer stand it. His hand moved smoothly to his bow. With an icy gaze, he pulled the string taut.

Moments later, the man collapsed lifelessly onto the woman's body. "Whether she survives now, doesn't concern me anymore," he admonished himself sternly.

A brick shattered the woman's face. A small boy sat laughing on a nearby roof.

"Battleships. This is like Battleships. It’s so much fun."

Resigned, Azrael closed the window again. A small part of his being whispered "Fuck you" to him. Just hide or flee.

"Lyren, sit down," he whispered emotionlessly.

"But..."

"LYREN!!!"

Lyren immediately sat down. Azrael’s eye made him shiver. It was so cold, so devoid of any feeling. It seemed to suppress his anger completely, instantly.

Azrael began pacing in circles. "Objective: You kill your mother, I kill Bard and the bitch. What else? We can't save them. Maybe Bartho at least. Another problem: the perpetrators."

He paused for a moment. "Based on my current knowledge, there's only one possible culprit. The Vuldrith." He had read about them briefly. He hadn’t delved into them deeply, but he knew their goal was to return the world to its original madness. They sought to achieve this by summoning a Madness Spirit through a ritual.

He explained it briefly and concisely, making sure Lyren understood the important points.

"All of this," Lyren gestured toward the chaos outside, "is happening just because they need a ritual?"

„Yes, that’s the only purpose behind it.”

Lyren’s face darkened. “These scum, these filthy cowards, miserable lunatics, spawn of a bitch…”

“Enough. The problem is, this cult is very powerful. This ritual is not small. That means it’s not insignificant to them. Unless, of course, it was carried out by an individual. That severely limits our options.”

“Can’t we stop it?”

Azrael imagined the faces of these despicable bastards. Mocking, they waited, enjoying the situation.

He grinned grimly. “Yes, there is a way.”

Lyren perked up, hope rising. “What are the chances of success?”

“Very high. There’s only one way to stop it. We can avoid it by waiting until the darkness falls. We’ll initiate a mass extermination. We’ll burn everything and everyone. We’ll set the entire village on fire. The smoke will cause massive death. This will kill as many as possible. This will lead to the collapse of the ritual.”

“But, well,” Lyren hesitated, “they’re innocent people.”

“No, they’re not humans anymore. They’re dead. They’re no longer people. We have to do this, otherwise, it’s just escape. Do you want that?”

He thought for a moment. “Screw it, you’re right. Fight fire with fire.”

“Luckily, the villagers can no longer use their abilities. We have a good chance. We just can’t get caught by the Vuldrith. Now that I think about it, the worms actually have nothing to do with the sealing of abilities. Well, whatever.”

“What do we do now?”

“Prepare everything for an escape. Then we go find your mother. I’ll take out my targets as a birthday gift.”

“What about Bartho?”

Azrael fell silent for a moment. “We could tie him to a tree outside the village. The problem is the risk of being noticed. On the other hand, they only want madness. A few unaffected people could make the situation worse. But we could be watched. Isn’t there a better way? Probably, but which? Lock him in the basement? Too risky.”

After a few minutes, he made his decision. “We’ll make sure he stays in the house. Once we start the fire, panic will break out. At least among the Vuldrith. We’ll use that moment to escape. If necessary, we’ll knock him out.”

6:15 PM.

A knock echoed at the door – dull, demanding. They had just finished their work, removing the last traces. And then it happened.

“Help, please help me!” A female voice, trembling, consumed by fear, pierced through the wood of the door.

Azrael raised a finger to his lips. “Shh.” His eyes narrowed, watchful.

Another knock, louder this time, more desperate. The door vibrated with the force. “Please! I don’t want to die! They... they want to eat me! Please help me!”

Beside him, his black-haired friend began nervously twitching his fingers, the restlessness settling on him like an illness. Azrael responded quickly. His foot slammed down hard onto his friend’s, a clear warning.

Outside, voices echoed. Deep, cruel, the kind that knew no mercy. “There she is! Grab that unruly brat!”

“We’ve fattened you up. Today’s slaughter day.” The voice was rough and familiar, like a dagger slicing through Lyren’s innermost being.

Lyren froze, then his face darkened. His lips pulled back as rage and pain dug into his features like shadows. The man with the axe. The murderer of his family.

His hand shot instinctively to the hilt of his sword. But before he could reach it, a strong hand closed around his wrist. Azrael’s gaze was stern, cold. A silent but firm shake of the head.

A scream pierced the silence, shrill and full of desperation. “Please, I’m not affected! I... I’m normal! Help me!”

Then a second scream – deeper, laced with pure pain. The walls seemed to tremble under the sound, before silence returned, heavy and oppressive.

Outside, heavy steps echoed, rhythmic, merciless. Something was being dragged behind them, scraping across the ground. A dull dragging sound that wouldn’t stop.

“I can’t take this anymore,” murmured Lyren, his voice little more than a whisper, hoarse from suppressed rage and fear.