The alarm blared, signaling the start of a new day. A hand shot out from under the covers, silencing it with a press of a button.
A woman stirred, letting out a soft yawn as she climbed out of bed. She made her way to the bathroom, freshening up before stepping into the shower. Afterward, she dried off, dressed in a form-fitting outfit, and carefully applied her makeup.
Once ready, she headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Sliding a couple of slices into the toaster, she rummaged through a cabinet.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “Forgot to refill again.”
Sighing, she opened the fridge, grabbed a jug of orange juice, and poured herself a glass just as the toaster popped. She ate quickly, grabbed her handbag, and headed out.
Before work, she stopped at a coffee shop. Joining the crowded line, she eventually reached the counter.
“Welcome to Moonbucks. What can I get you today?” asked the cashier.
“I'll have a grande iced shaken espresso,” she said. “No decaf, light syrup.”
With her order placed, she found a table and pulled a tablet from her bag, scrolling through notes while she waited. After a few minutes, the barista called her name.
“Crawford.”
“That’s me,” she replied, gathering her belongings and retrieving her drink.
Her next stop wasn’t the office but another address. Following directions on her phone sent by a friend, she arrived at a quiet building. Inside, she found herself in a room with chairs arranged in a circle, the atmosphere heavy yet welcoming. People sat quietly, waiting for the session to begin. She took an empty seat, silencing her phone.
This was her first group therapy session. Nervous but resolute, she recalled her friend’s encouragement to attend. When the instructor started, introductions went around the circle, with everyone giving their experiences since the monster crisis. Finally, it was her turn.
Standing, she took a deep breath. “Hello, everyone,” she began, her voice wavering. “My name is Taylor. I’m a journalist with Channel Nine News.”
“Hi, Taylor,” the group responded in unison.
Taylor hesitated, steadying herself. “Like some of you, I’m a victim of the monster crisis. A friend recommended I come here to work through... everything.”
Her voice faltered as she continued. “I... uhh... lost my fiancé that day. We were on a date when it happened. We ran for our lives, but we didn’t know where to go. It all felt so surreal, like a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. One moment, I was holding his hand, and the next…”
Her words broke off, her head bowing as tears spilled. “A monster attacked us. It devoured him... right in front of me. I couldn’t move. I just stood there, watching as the love of my life, the man I was supposed to grow old with, was eaten alive.”
The room remained silent, the weight of her pain palpable. Taylor’s voice cracked as she continued. “I stood there in horror, awaiting my fate. But suddenly, in a blur, I was pulled away from the scene before it could reach me. After processing what had happened, I noticed that a boy had saved me. He looked back, asking if I was okay.”
Tears streamed down her face as she finished. “I still hear his screams every time I close my eyes. But… things are getting better. I’ve started sleeping through the night. And I’ve been going back to work. The process is slow, but I want to heal and overcome this excruciating pain. Thank you.”
Taylor sat down, her chest heaving as she wiped her tears. The room responded with quiet applause, their smiles encouraging. It was the first step in a long journey, but she had taken it.
After the session ended, the instructor approached Taylor with a gentle expression. "Are you okay?" she asked.
Taylor managed a faint smile. "I'm getting better," she said, her voice tinged with lingering sadness. "Even though it’s really difficult."
"I know it’s hard," the instructor replied empathetically. "But as humans, we have to keep moving forward for a better tomorrow."
Taylor nodded, offering a quiet thank-you before waving goodbye. Turning her phone off silent mode as she left, she noticed several missed calls from her boss and a series of messages urging her to come in immediately. Realizing how late she was, she hurried to work.
When Taylor arrived at the bustling office, she was struck by the flurry of activity. Colleagues rushed around with determined urgency, leaving her momentarily confused.
"Crawford!" a sharp voice called out. "You’re late."
Taylor turned to see her boss approaching. "I’m so sorry, ma’am," she said quickly. "I had something important to attend to."
Her boss studied her for a moment before sighing. "Well, it’s too late now. I already assigned Keller to the task."
"What task?" Taylor asked, her brow furrowed. "And why is everyone so frantic today?"
Her boss raised an eyebrow. "You haven’t heard? That explains a lot."
"Heard what?" Taylor pressed, her curiosity mounting.
After a pause, her boss finally explained, "The demigod kids have agreed to meet with reporters and journalists to address the situation with the gods, among other things."
Taylor’s eyes widened, disbelief etched across her face. "That’s impossible," she whispered.
"I thought the same," her boss admitted. "But once I confirmed it was real, I secured a slot at the meeting for our channel."
Taylor stood frozen, the weight of the revelation sinking in. Then, an urgent realization struck her. "Please," she said, her voice trembling. "Let me go instead."
Her boss sighed. "I already assigned Keller. It’s too la..."
Before she could finish, she noticed the tears welling in Taylor’s eyes. Taylor stepped closer, her voice desperate. "Please, ma’am. I’ll do anything to cover this. I’ll even work overtime. Just let me go."
Her boss hesitated, startled by Taylor’s uncharacteristic plea. Taylor’s emotions weren’t just professional, this was personal. The crisis had left her with questions that demanded answers. Her resentment toward the demigods lingered, rooted in the belief that if they had acted just seconds faster, her fiancé might still be alive. She needed closure.
"Please," Taylor repeated, her voice breaking. "I need this."
After a long moment, her boss exhaled deeply. "Alright, Crawford," she said. "I’ll call Keller and tell him to return."
Taylor’s face lit up with gratitude, tears spilling over. "Thank you so much," she said, wiping her face quickly.
"But," her boss added firmly, "you’re representing this channel. Stick to the brief, no going off script."
"Understood," Taylor agreed.
At her desk, Taylor quickly prepared for the assignment. She reviewed the briefing, memorizing the approved questions. While she wouldn’t get to ask her personal ones directly, she held onto the hope that someone else might and that the answers, regardless of which ones, would finally bring her some semblance of peace.
After completing her preparations, Taylor headed to the location of the much-anticipated event. Upon arrival, she was immediately struck by the sheer magnitude of the gathering. Reporters, journalists, and newscasters from all over the world, not just the US, crowded the area. The international presence underscored the scale of this event; likely one of the most significant in recent history.
The gravity of the situation dawned on her as she took in the setting. This wasn’t just another press conference; it was a live broadcast addressing the entire world, with people demanding answers about the recent crisis and the revelation of the gods’ existence. Taylor felt the pressure mounting, the enormity of it all pressing heavily on her shoulders.
As she entered the conference room, she found her designated seat among the front rows reserved for journalists with assigned questions. These seats were few, but behind them stretched a sea of others filled with influential figures from across the globe, all invited to witness this unprecedented meeting.
Taylor sat, nerves gnawing at her as she scanned the room. The buzz of voices hushed as anticipation grew. After what felt like an eternity of waiting, a man, likely the event’s organizer, stepped onto the stage and began the proceedings. His voice carried authority as he introduced the speaker: one of the demigods.
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Shortly, a young boy, around his late teens, stepped forward. He had long black hair and a slim build, much different from what Taylor had witnessed. Yet, she recognized him instantly. It was Klaus Walker.
Klaus had been one of the leaked demigods, captured on video saving people during the monster crisis. Footage from Times Square had shown him radiating a brilliant aura, marking him unmistakably as the son of Sol, the god of light. Seeing him in person, however, was an entirely different experience. Despite his youth, he exuded an aura of authority and menace that sent a chill through the room.
As Klaus approached the front of the stage, silence fell. His piercing gaze swept over the audience, and even without speaking, he commanded the attention of everyone present. The organizer broke the quiet from the sidelines, signaling the start of the questioning.
"The questioning sequence may begin now," he announced.
But before anyone could speak, Klaus raised his hand slightly, commanding silence. "Before we begin," he said, his voice steady yet powerful, "I want to make something clear. We demigods are not the property of the United States. Our presence here does not elevate this country above any other, nor does it make the United States any stronger. We are not their weapon, and they are not our holster. This is simply where we reside. Nothing more."
The room remained still, absorbing his words. The declaration was firm and left no room for debate. After a moment, the organizer gestured for the first journalist to begin.
A reporter rose and introduced themselves before asking, "What exactly are the gods, and how did the demigods come to be?"
Klaus turned his attention to the journalist, his expression unreadable. "The gods are the pinnacle of power in all of reality," he began shortly. "They created existence and reside in a divine realm called Higher World. To preserve mortal belief and provide protection without direct interference, they initiated the demigod project. This project involved reproducing with humans to create beings capable of bridging divinity and mortality."
His explanation was concise yet profound, leaving the audience in silent contemplation. The journalist nodded and sat down, yielding the floor to the next.
The second journalist rose and posed a pointed question: "If the gods exist, why do people still suffer? Why don’t they simply make life better for everyone?"
Klaus listened carefully, taking his time to think before responding. "Would you truly desire a life of luxury and comfort if it came at the cost of your sentience?" he asked rhetorically. "The gods want humans to write their own stories. Interfering in choices would undermine the privilege of free will they have granted. True sentience cannot exist if it is manipulated or controlled."
His answer stirred murmurs among the crowd, sparking unspoken questions, though the structured format of the event discouraged tangents. The journalist, satisfied for now, took their seat, and the next in line prepared to ask their question.
"What about the afterlife?" the journalist asked abruptly. "Is there truly a place where good people go and another for the wicked?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. It was one of the most sensitive topics imaginable, one that countless people around the world yearned to understand. The room fell utterly silent, all eyes fixed on Klaus as if the entire planet collectively held its breath. The answer he gave could soothe or ignite a storm of panic, and Klaus was acutely aware of the precarious position he was in.
He knew the truth, but he also understood that revealing it would serve no one. To speak honestly would risk throwing the world into chaos. Yet, Klaus refused to outright lie. He had anticipated this question, prepared for it, and now he spoke with the deliberation of someone treading on thin ice.
"Do you truly want such an answer, or do you only think you do?" Klaus asked, his voice calm yet charged with gravity. "The mystery of the afterlife is unnecessary. If I were to confirm a paradise for the innocent and a purgatory for the guilty, this life could lose its value for some. Those who struggle might decide to abandon their lives, hoping for something better without the effort to change their present. And if I were to deny the existence of an afterlife entirely, reality itself would become far more horrifying, potentially driving people to despair. So, I ask again: do you truly want such an answer?"
The weight of his words reverberated through the room. The collective curiosity of humanity clashed with an even greater fear of the truth. Slowly, the journalist who had asked the question sat down, their voice silenced by the enormity of what Klaus had implied.
The session continued, question after question, with Klaus maintaining his measured responses. He balanced his answers between satisfying the public's demand for clarity and mitigating any potential fallout. But then, the topic shifted, and a new journalist raised a question that caused Klaus to pause.
"What exactly caused the crisis?" they asked. "What happened to bring it about?"
Klaus hesitated. This was the question he dreaded most. The truth behind the crisis was too absurd, too damaging, to share openly. He could not tell the world that their lives had been upended by the jealousy of a demon girl. Taking a steady breath, he formulated a response that, while not a lie, softened the harsh edges of the truth.
"A demon resented humanity and felt threatened by its existence," Klaus began. "She enacted judgment that was not hers to pass, releasing monsters back into Main World, on Earth. Many of you may already know the ancient stories of how humans once coexisted with these creatures millennia ago. This crisis was an echo of that time, a disruption we were not prepared for."
His words sent ripples of unease through the audience. The murmurs grew louder as his explanation sunk in. Concern and fear etched themselves onto the faces of those gathered, their collective unease rising like a tide.
Klaus raised a hand, his commanding presence silencing the room. "Relax," he said firmly, his golden eyes scanning the crowd. "The crisis caught all of us off guard, but I assure you, it will not happen again."
He wanted to believe his own words, even if he couldn’t guarantee them. Still, his mention of the demon girl stirred a new wave of questions, this time bordering on panic.
"Does that mean demons exist?" someone randomly asked, their voice sharp with fear.
"Yes, they exist," Klaus replied evenly, "but they reside in Under World, a realm entirely separate from this one."
The clarification did little to assuage the crowd's growing anxiety. More questions came in a flurry, overlapping and unmoderated. The tension in the room was palpable, a boiling pot ready to spill over. Klaus did his best to keep up, attempting to calm the storm he had unwittingly created.
Amid the chaos, Taylor sat silently, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She had been sent to ask a specific question: whether undisclosed demigods still lived among them. But in that moment, her mission felt meaningless. All she could think of was the loss she had endured. If the demigods had been faster, if they had done their duty better, her fiancé might still be alive. The pain, long buried beneath her professionalism, clawed its way to the surface.
Finally, unable to contain herself any longer, Taylor rose abruptly. Her voice cut through the noise with raw emotion. "You were supposed to protect us all!" she shouted, her hazel eyes blazing. "You claim you’re tasked by the gods to safeguard humanity, but why did you fail? Why did we have to lose so many people? Why weren’t you fast enough to protect the ones we love?"
The room fell silent, her words ringing out like a bell. Suddenly, Klaus turned to her slowly, his piercing golden eyes locking onto hers. At that moment, an overwhelming force radiated from him, filling the room with pressure so immense that Taylor staggered back, collapsing into her chair. Her heart pounded as she felt the weight of his presence; unyielding, unearthly, and undeniably powerful.
The pure rage etched into Klaus’ face was unmistakable as he glared at Taylor, his silence sharper than any words. The room mirrored his stillness, every eye fixed on him. The weight of his fury struck Taylor like a blow, and she immediately regretted speaking. Shame gnawed at her, curling in her chest.
“It is our duty to protect humanity,” Klaus began at last, his voice cold and cutting, “but we are not obligated to do so. And the more I listen to some of you, the more disgusted I become.”
The silence in the room deepened, his harsh tone slicing through the air. Klaus’ burning yellow eyes remained locked on Taylor, who shrank under their intensity. “All you people care about is yourselves,” he continued, his words dripping with disdain. “Nothing else matters to you; not the bigger picture, not the sacrifices we’ve made. As long as your questions are answered, or your loved ones are spared, that’s all you care about.”
The anger in his voice was unmistakable, each syllable cutting deeper than the last. He paused, his gaze leaving Taylor and sweeping the room, his frustration directed at everyone present. “We did everything in our power to defend humanity,” he said, his voice rising slightly, “despite our inexperience, despite our youth. And yet, you have the audacity to blame us for every unfortunate loss, for not being ‘fast enough’ to save YOUR loved ones.”
His piercing glare swept across the crowd, his fury expanding. “You’re all selfish,” Klaus declared, his words strong. “You only care about yourselves, and nothing else. I’ve tried to be selfless, to give everything I had, but now I see that it wasn’t enough. And because of that, I can no longer care less. I don’t care if you lost your best friend. I don’t care if you lost your family. I don’t care if you lost the love of your life. If you can’t appreciate that your measly lives were saved, then I have no reason to waste another second answering your petty, self-serving questions.”
The room was utterly still, his rage a palpable force that no one dared challenge. Fear coursed through the crowd like an unspoken wave. Klaus’ voice softened, but his tone remained dangerous as he spoke his final words.
“And let me say this,” he added, his voice low and arrogant, “if any of you dare inconvenience us or our families like you have these past months, you’ll find that the monsters were the least of your worries. And you do not want to make enemies of your protectors.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and inescapable. Klaus took one last look at the stunned audience before his expression softened, the anger retreating behind a cold mask. “This session is dismissed,” he said flatly. And then, without warning, he vanished, disappearing into thin air before anyone could react.
For a long moment, the room remained frozen, the weight of what had just transpired rendering everyone speechless. The raw power of Klaus’ words and presence lingered, an echo of his divine heritage.
Taylor sat motionless, her thoughts a tangled mess. She had known of the demigods’ supernatural abilities, but witnessing Klaus vanish like that, feeling the sheer force of his rage, was something else entirely.
Minutes passed before the organizer emerged from the sidelines, his face pale and voice hesitant. “Uhh…” he stammered awkwardly. “With that, I believe this meeting has… concluded.”
The room buzzed with muted confusion as people slowly rose from their seats. Cameras clicked off, and the live stream ended with an abrupt finality. Taylor, feeling the weight of Klaus’ words more acutely than she anticipated, stood and began to make her way out, her footsteps heavy.
Klaus’ tirade echoed in her mind, not as a source of anger but as a mirror reflecting her own failings. She had lashed out, blaming the demigods for her pain, yet his words revealed a truth she had refused to consider; they, too, had suffered. They were young, overwhelmed, and expected to bear the impossible weight of protecting an entire world.
As she walked, guilt settled over her like a storm cloud. Tears pricked her eyes, and before she could stop them, they fell freely, warm streaks of sorrow running down her face. The memory of her fiancé surfaced, sharp and piercing, reigniting her grief. But now, intertwined with that pain was the knowledge that her anger had been misplaced.
Perhaps things were not as simple as she had believed. Perhaps, in her grief, she had failed to see the humanity in those who bore divine blood. And perhaps… she owed them more than blame.