14:39

She awoke on a cold, unforgiving floor, disoriented and feeling the ache in her face. "Where-" The dryness in her throat choked her voice, and a cough brought back the pounding memories of what had transpired. "Nura!"

To her relief and dread, her daughter lay sprawled beside her on the floor. "Nura!" Aisha rushed to her side, cradling her in her arms, only to discover the gruesome truth – a bloody stump where Nura's pinky used to be.

"Nu-"

"Yell one more time, and I'd give you a reason to scream for your daughter."

Aisha silenced herself, a mix of physical and mental reflexes suppressing her voice. The hauntingly familiar, accursed voice belonged to the woman now standing ominously behind them, accompanied by her male partner, both seemingly cleaner than Aisha remembered from the moment she passed out in her own home.

Dread gripped her as she realized the monsters were far from finished with them.

They materialized before her, clad in peculiar attire yet devoid of any stains or grime. It couldn't have been long since their initial appearance; her internal clock suggested no more than a couple of hours had passed since they arrived. Accompanied by Officers Hendrics and Belsamel – colleagues of her husband, whose names she had previously been oblivious to – they barged into her life.

It was the unhinged Officer Belsamel who forced his way in when she opened the door, threatening her to extend an invitation, while the malicious duo subjected Officer Hendrics to torment on her doorstep. In that horrifying moment, she not only learned their names but etched them into her memory as they later screamed and pleaded in vain.

Now, cradling Nura in her arms with the menacing pair just meters away, Aisha surveyed their surroundings – a different apartment, its open window revealing a scene identical to the street where she, her daughter and husband resided. It was then that she noticed the sole occupant of the apartment: an elderly man, seemingly in his seventies, seated on a couch with his head at one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Shh!" A coarse hand covered her mouth as she prepared to scream. "I wasn't clear. Make a sound without permission, and I'll take it out on her," the tall woman shifted her finger from Aisha's lips to point menacingly at Nura.

Aisha gasped for breath but managed a weary nod.

"Get up," the woman commanded. Aisha struggled on her feet, burdened by Nura's weight. She refused to release her daughter.

"You. Too!" The woman seized Nura's face, drawing near with a low growl that sent shivers down Aisha's spine. Nura's almond eyes snapped open in instinctive alarm and fear. She quivered in her mother's arms, and Aisha held her tightly, silently urging her not to make a sound.

"The nightmare's not over, little pup. Remember the rules of our game? I can remind you, but it'll cost you," the woman grinned, revealing her serrated teeth once again. Nura clung to her mother, shaking her head and biting her lips, unwilling to disobey.

"Shame…" The woman sighed in disappointment. "But good for you. Round Two, then. Come, little pup, sit next to this nice old man who let us in when he saw you cradled in my arms, just like your mother holds you. You, mommy, head to the kitchen with my companion. Answer all his questions. Alright?"

Aisha hesitated to part from Nura, and her daughter clung to her, both too terrified to defy the command.

"Chop-chop or I'll chop you up," the woman urged. "Oh… I already chopped you."

A jolt of pain surged through Aisha's hand, breaking through the shock. Nura, on the verge of raising her hand, was stopped by Aisha, who shielded her from the gruesome sight. Together, they assisted each other to their designated places.

Nura settled beside the lifeless old man, her gaze fixed on the wall, her mind elsewhere. Aisha dared not look at her daughter. While she considered herself a resilient woman, having comforted her husband through his toughest cases, this ordeal was pushing her mental fortitude to the brink. She could only fathom the state of Nura's mind.

"Sit here," the male accomplice gestured to a chair in the kitchen.

"Would you like a glass of water?" he asked. "You must answer my questions with a clear and steady voice."

She nodded, accepting the glass of water; without it, complying would be impossible.

"What's your name?" His first question came after she drank the water.

"Ilmar Aisha," she thanked her lucky stars as her voice held steady.

"Your daughter's name?"

"Ilmar Nura."

"Your husband's name?"

"Ilmar Lois."

"You're doing well. You can relax. Another glass of water?"

"No, thank you."

"You're welcome. What nicknames do you use with your husband?" Various names, some deeply personal, lingered in Aisha's mind, causing her to hesitate before responding. "You get only one," the man declared.

'You get only one,' echoed in her head, the same words spoken to her husband before the ominous consequences unfolded.

"We call each other 'habibat qalbi,' 'alhubu,' 'darling,' 'hon.' In bed, we use…" The personal interrogation continued with twenty more probing questions. As it concluded, the tall man closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate.

Aisha, feeling more vulnerable than when she first woke up, observed his throat shifting oddly, as if he had swallowed a snake whole. A peculiar and unnerving fear gripped her, a sense of impending doom that defied logical explanation. Yet, her intuition, suppressed but not silenced, screamed the inconceivable truth. Simultaneously, images of the horrors that transpired at her home formed the basis for her unsettling assumptions.

The man cleared his throat and began, "Habibat qalbi. Lois. Nura. When are you coming? We are fine, darling. They're taking care of us. Please save us."

"My voice-" Despite anticipating the man's intentions, Aisha lost her final grip on reality when she heard her own voice emanating from his mouth. That was until her face was seized.

"Done with the girl?" The man raised his voice.

"We are done," responded the woman from the living room.

His gaze fixated on Aisha, and a prickly sensation caused her face to itch. The hand on her face felt like it was encompassing her entire head as the palm and fingers grew bigger and longer, becoming hairy.

She couldn't move, make a sound, or barely think. Something invisible seized her entire being and paralyzed her. Tears streamed down her face as she witnessed, through the cracks between the darkening huge fingers, the man's eyes turning yellow and expanding along with the rest of his body. A foul breath blew on her, a sharp metallic stench that made her tongue tingle as though she had put a battery in her mouth.

"Make it quick," the man's voice sounded different, gruff.

"They deserve it," Aisha heard the woman from the living room speaking with the same gruffness.

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

'Nura,' was her final thought before a sharp pain pierced her head, and everything turned black.

...

14:47

Detective Ilmar's cellphone rang incessantly on the passenger seat. The passing minutes were signaled by every new message received. Nevertheless, he didn't dare touch it unless it was his wife, Aisha's number.

He had no doubt his home was swarmed with his colleagues. After firing at the two invaders, it was expected for his neighbors to report it, and there was no excuse he could conjure to cancel the report, not after two officers had disappeared.

The light turned red, and he stomped the brakes. He was driving in Aisha's red Eclipse Cross Mitsubishi and had left his work cellphone in the Suzuki Ciaz, as the department could track both.

"Aisha… Nura…" Through gritted teeth, he waited for the light to turn green.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, and the urge to bang it surged within him. However, he refrained; he couldn't afford to appear like a reckless driver. Moreover, his right hand was poorly bandaged, and he couldn't risk worsening the injury.

The light turned green, and the moment there was a gap between him and the car in front, he pressed on the gas and maneuvered as cautiously as possible toward his destination, Michael Mir's home – the address etched in his memory from the interrogation.

'How?! How?! How did they stop the bullets?' His mind raced for an explanation. Not once did the amalgamation of his memory and the physical and mental trauma attempt to deceive him. He didn't allow it!

'No! I aimed for their foreheads, and their hands were bare! The man took me down in an instant, with inhuman speed and force!'

"No! No! No!"

He snapped with both his outer and inner voices.

'They might have been on something! That crazy woman, she… She cut and… and… ATE Nura's FINGER!'

"Stay calm! Stay calm!"

It was the most strenuous effort he had ever exerted to compose himself.

'There!'

He spotted the street signpost and frantically began to count the building numbers.

...

Michael raised his head from the pillow, sweating and panting. He had to bury his face to stifle his groans.

"Never. Ever. Again!" He glared at David.

"The potion is meant for someone in the First Metamorphosis. You're far from reaching there. It did its job with minor complications, see?"

Michael lifted his shirt. Aside from his body appearing more toned than ever, the bleeding hole where David had stabbed him was now replaced by a pale and somewhat ugly scar.

"It will fade, I think… You'll have to check after the First Metamorphosis," David rubbed his chin. "Don't look at me like this. We now know your power might have come from String, and Its growth most likely supports yours. But besides that, you're separate beings. You don't influence each other's 'stats' when the other is injured. You're String's host, and It provides you Its strength for your base. From here, you can continue to improve your base by finding out how to increase your Worm Insights or focus on individual development. Should we talk now about your bounty?"

"Yes-" disgruntled, Michael lowered his shirt when a loud noise outside his room alerted him and David. 'The bounty hunters? Mom!' He grabbed the revolver and ran to the living room.

"Michael Mir!" First came the distressed voice, then the frantic face.

"Detective Ilmar!" Michael recognized the man, yet his attention hastily shifted downwards. "Mom!" She was lying on the floor, and the house's door was wide open. 'He barged in!' The scene registered the noise he heard from his room.

"Mr. Mir, I'm sorry. They have my wife and daughter."

Knowing what he had to do, Detective Ilmar gained a measure of miserable clarity. He pulled his gun from its holster with his left hand, balancing with his injured right.

"You…" Michael saw red. Inside him, String stirred, trying to goad him toward violence. "Attacked my mother!"

He noticed the bandaged right hand and recalled it was fine when he left the 98th Precinct. Then again, there was a fire in the adjacent building, and the detective went to assist. Either way, he didn't care. The man was aiming his gun at him!

Fast and swift, he caught the hands holding the gun, pushed Detective Ilmar against the wall, and shoved the revolver's muzzle to his chin. Detective Ilmar was taken aback by the strength and speed of the unassuming young man he, not two hours ago, had deemed incapable of posing a danger to anyone. Now, that very same young man handled him effortlessly and held a gun to his head!

"You… are you one of them, connected to them?!" Detective Ilmar connected a few dots with uncertainty and pushed back. As strong as Michael was, he was not the huge man who had attacked him at his home, and his eyes lacked the resolve to pull the trigger.

Michael resisted, pressing Ilmar's hands against the wall until the gun dropped, and he kicked it away. "Mom, are you okay?" He was furious, but things began to connect for him too. 'Could it be that those after my bounty involve the police or just Detective Ilmar?'

"Who's this man, Michael? Why- Why are you carrying a gun? I thought you quit…" Mary mumbled.

"Rest," David appeared behind Mary, his hand veiling her eyes with shimmering darkness. Her body went limp in his arms. "Cease," he commanded with an authority that had made Michael shiver more than once.

Grudgingly, Michael stepped back and lowered the revolver. In contrast, Detective Ilmar completely lost his bearings and succumbed to the petrifying authority. David carried Mary to the sofa and returned to stand in front of the detective, whose legs gave in.

"Calm down," it wasn't a request but a command, delivered in a voice devoid of the slightest hint of amusement.

Detective Ilmar felt an air of comfort embracing him, mending his pain and restlessness. His limbs started to shake as the realization of his actions dawned on him, along with the predicament that seemed to grow more severe with every new encounter.

"Speak to explain your behavior," David demanded.

The compulsion to satisfy David multiplied. Detective Ilmar was borderline in a trance that further pacified his emotional turmoil. "There were two invaders at my home…" He opened up and narrated in a fluent speech, from Aisha's cellphone call to recounting the events at his home and his subsequent departure.

"The Lycander Clan," David said.

"'Lycan' as in 'lycanthrope,' as in 'Werewolves'?" Michael guessed.

"Monsters in human form for you," David crouched, comforting Detective Ilmar with a hand on his shoulder, a hand radiating warmth and affirmation. "You did the best you could for your family."

As many questions as Michael had, he silently observed the contracting expression, the brokenness plastering Detective Ilmar's face.

'Mason and his friends died supposedly because of me. Now, because of my summoning a Demonic Entity, the detective's family also got involved… all because of me?'

"Michael," David called him.

"Yes?"

"The Lycander Clan's modus operandi is to target everything of value in their line of sight. They're here for me and for you. Their intelligence gathering, however, is slow due to the sole usage of Clan's agents. To keep up with new events, they follow the movement of their rivals, the House of Dobroutes."

"Don't tell me…"

"Vampires," David shrugged. "Pop culture isn't entirely wrong about the species' relationship, and some of both do shine…"

"Help me!" Detective Ilmar begged.

The exchange didn't escape Detective Ilmar, nor did Michael and David's inhuman abilities, which mirrored those of the intruders, or how it all partly explained the murder case of Mason and Neil. However, none of that mattered. He was still desperate enough to ask Michael to accompany him to the ruthless pair, rather than seeking backup from the 98th Precinct, as the latter option carried higher risks of putting his wife and daughter in danger.

David turned to him, a consoling gaze that conveyed more to the astute Detective than any words could.

"No!" Detective Ilmar refused to accept it.

"Then call them. Tell them you need to know where to bring Michael or wait a couple of minutes. Knowing their method, they'll soon call you for a follow-up."

Michael closed the entrance door, deciding not to interfere. He didn't possess the experience and skillset of either of the men, but he could still read the atmosphere, perhaps so clearly due to his slightly heightened senses.

Detective Ilmar fumbled for his cellphone. The first thing that caught his eye was the time: 14:56.

"They have tendencies to act at round numbers," David remarked, and the three proceeded to wait as the minutes passed.

15:00

A ring.

Aisha's number.

"Tell them you have the person they're looking for in reference to Michael. Other than that, don't lie to them. Maneuver around probing questions and don't mention your location or me," David instructed.

Detective Ilmar nodded and answered in a shaky voice. "A- Aisha?"

"If you want to hear your wife and daughter, you'd need to provide a progress status."

It was the voice of the woman who mutilated his daughter.

"I have the murder of the Peiner St. crime scene," Detective Ilmar avoided looking at Michael.

"Wow! How come that fast? Not because I scared you, right? Wouldn't want you to make a mistake in identity. Your wife and daughter also wouldn't want that…"

"He's the only suspect in the case. I interrogated him today, before we met. He left the precinct during a fire, and I was tasked with bringing him back before you used my wife's phone to call me."

"That's so… Alright. I'll recognize your professionalism. In an hour, I'll call again to tell you where to bring him. For a reward, you can choose to speak with your wife or daughter for one minute. Who will it be?"

Detective Ilmar's mind raced. He wanted to hear both, but he needed to reassure, and that required the one who would listen best…

"My wife, Aisha, please!"

"L- Lois?" To the sound of her voice, he shifted his gaze to David, who signaled him to keep quiet about him.

"Sweetheart, Aisha, it's me. I promise you; it would soon be over. How are you and Nura? Are they hurting you?"

"No," her voice was weak, but hers. He was relieved and thankful. "They have us sit and wait for you. Our daughter… it's hard for her. I… don't know what to do…"

"You just wait and tell her daddy's coming soon. Aisha, I need you to be brave and to believe in me. I need you to tell me that you can have faith in me – for me, for you, and for our daughter."

"Ana 'uwmin bik."

"T- Tell me again, Aisha," Detective Ilmar let out a small cry.

"Ana 'uwmin bik. I love you, Lois!"

"Again, please, they gave us a minute. Please say it again!"

"Ana 'uwmin bik! Ana 'uwmin bik! Ana 'uwmin bik! Ana 'uwmin bik! Habibat qalbi, Ana 'uwmin bik!"

Tears fell as Detective Ilmar broke into ugly crying, begging to hear his wife's voice.

"Again, please… again… again."

For her to say the right words.