Chapter 18

Life is a pretty unpredictable thing. One day you're on top of the world in golden armor, and the next, you're neck-deep in a cesspool. Yesterday, you were a carefree billionaire enjoying life, and today, you're tossed out of a plane without a parachute. And tomorrow, the day after, and for the next hundred days, people are trying to kill you in all sorts of ways.

And why? Because at a critical moment, you make the wrong decision—a stupid and thoughtless one. Knowing your purpose, you abandon it in favor of a cozy, familiar spot, in favor of what's easier and doesn't require much effort. It’s like knowing you're meant to dedicate yourself to painting, but instead, you continue to sit in a dusty office, entering numbers into a computer. Or realizing you're supposed to work in advertising, but being a cashier is easier; it's all familiar and not too complicated.

Or you give up working toward world peace in exchange for extra lives filled with wealth and joy. But hey, it's stable! However, there's an unwritten law of the universe—if you're not doing what you’re supposed to be doing, don't expect happiness. Though, if in the first cases this leads to nothing more than dissatisfaction with life and regret over missed opportunities, in my case, it will end with a painful death and a one-way ticket to hell. As an added twist, someone else will easily fulfill my purpose instead of me. Lucky me.

But there is another unwritten rule—it's never too late to change your life and get back on the right track. And for me, there are no exceptions to this.

Having been a board member for two months now, I’ve come within half a step of my goal. I won’t say it was easy, but it wasn’t as difficult as I initially thought.

The thing is, at first, I was in a dead-end situation. On one hand, after the war on the island, it was at least unsafe to stick my nose out of the plane. And it was terrifying to death. Even though Ari's failures amused Rion and me, and we often imagined his head exploding from anger, no one was underestimating his abilities.

On the other hand, my responsible position required frequent presence on land. And given Ari's constant progress in his attempts, any landing could be my last.

Still, I had to land—there was no way I could overthrow the chairman and take his place without leaving the plane.

The first landing was for a board meeting in that same ill-fated skyscraper. Part of me was sure I wouldn’t come out of there alive. When I did, an even bigger part was sure I wouldn’t make it back to the plane alive. When the landing gear lifted off the runway, my eyes searched the window for a missile coming our way.

Every minute of that day, I expected something terrible, unpredictable, unimaginable. But it never came. Ari didn’t attack, nor did he send anyone to attack.

Each time I went out after that, I prepared for his appearance, ready for anything. And when nothing happened, I was convinced that his absence was due to meticulous preparation for a deadly strike. Day by day, week by week, about a dozen outings—two months passed, and there were still no assassination attempts.

I never doubted for a second that this was just the calm before the storm, but regardless, it gave me time to get as close as possible to solving all my problems. Trying not to worry that Ari might jump out from any corner, I set to work on my plans.

First, I got to know Rob Foster—the contender for my place in the 'White Archive.' The guy turned out to be quite pleasant and, worse still, had a sharp mind. Getting rid of him for irresponsibility, failure to perform his duties, or something like that was unrealistic. There was nothing to criticize. However, no one is perfect, so I organized my spies to dig up significant dirt on him.

While the guys worked, I busied myself actively integrating into the new team. Specifically—establishing friendly relations with the chairman.

I won’t hide it—I initially acted purely out of self-interest. The price for failure was high—eternal torment in hell—so nothing else mattered to me. But once I found myself in this managerial environment, solving company problems, discussing issues that had never been addressed before—my mind began to expand.

Day by day, my perspective shifted, new horizons opened in my brain, and concepts and ideas appeared in a new, unusual light. I started to understand much of what I used to scoff at with sarcasm. I began to see the path leading me to fulfill my purpose.

With every board meeting, every interaction, the path became clearer, gradually transforming into a road. After two months of progress, I could already see a highway ahead. World peace—this goal no longer seemed sarcastic or unattainable.

By leading a company with connections all over the globe, I realized the possibility of fulfilling the designs of higher powers. I saw ways to achieve it. Finally, I fully believed that peace could become a reality, and that I was capable of making it happen.

All that remained was a small detail—taking the right seat. Although someone else still occupied it, and all indications were that my vision for the company’s future would eventually dawn on him too, the revelation had come to me first! And let’s not forget my personal motives—saving my soul was still a priority. This meant he had to go, and the sooner, the better.

The climactic news reached me during a business trip to Milan. I had just returned to my hotel after a meeting when my phone rang. The leader of the spy network finally had some solid information about Rob Foster.

What I heard, and later received in the form of photos and videos, shook me to my core. A better piece of dirt was hard to imagine. I won't go into the sordid details of the information I obtained. I'll just say that from now on, I’ll try to minimize any contact with the still-acting executive director. And if I ever have to shake his hand, I’ll be washing mine for an hour and a half afterward, and won’t bring them near my face for three days.

Once this material goes public, the company will drop Rob like a madman, without hesitation. After all, what a blow it would be to the reputation of such a great organization! How do people like him even get into the ‘White Archive’?

I almost felt disgusted while going through the information, repulsed by the thought that I would have to use it to disgrace an otherwise decent (mostly) person. But another part of me was overjoyed!

Within a day, the coveted chair was set to be vacated by its current occupant, and very soon, it would have a new, more deserving owner.

No more uncertainty. No more wondering how long my revolting lifestyle would last. Now, it was just a matter of days! Soon enough, I’d be able to live on solid ground again, instead of in the air. I’d stop constantly looking over my shoulder and jumping at every noise. I’d be able to sleep and wake up next to my wife, hold my daughter in my arms. What could be better? Nothing.

Well, almost…

I walked to the window and began to ponder. In my mind, a map of Europe appeared. There was Milan, at the edge of Italy. And right next to it was Switzerland, with Geneva on its outskirts. My family lived there, in the suburbs of Geneva. A mere 300 kilometers away. Just a half-hour flight at most! I hadn’t been this close to them in almost a third of a year!

A storm of inner conflict began to tear me apart. On the one hand, I had hidden my family for a reason and decided to stay as far away from them as possible until I had solved this issue. On the other hand, the problem already seemed resolved. All that was left was to move a finger slightly, and I was so confident that failure wasn’t even a consideration. Plus, Ari had been too lazy to show up in our world—it felt like hell had forgotten about me altogether.

The desire to see my loved ones today was overwhelming. I didn't detect a trace of recklessness in my decision, and I had no doubt Rion would understand and support me.

"No," Rion said firmly when I told him my intentions. "Once you plant your ass in the right chair, you can do whatever you want. Every landing is already a huge risk, and there's no need to walk around on land without a good reason. We've been through too much to stumble at the finish line."

"We've practically crossed it!" I unleashed my gift of persuasion. "You've seen the dirt we have on him—you know it'll work out. And I know Harvey will say 'yes.' On top of that, Ari hasn't surfaced in two months, hasn't sent anyone. Do you really think he'll pop up right when I'm near my family?"

Rion put on a thoughtful expression. Could my arguments have worked so quickly? Not that I needed his permission—if I’d set my mind on flying to my family, I’d fly. And he'd come along, no question. But I wanted his understanding, not to drag him along unwillingly.

"Let’s think logically," I continued. "What do we know about Ari? He's a jerk—that's a fact." I raised one finger. "He never stays on the sidelines; he always takes part in the hunt for the soul." I raised a second finger. "But he wasn’t on the island. He vanished right before everything kicked off and hasn’t been seen since. That’s not like him. What does that tell us? That more important matters have come up! I’ve been moved to the back burner! And in a couple of days, I’ll be off his radar altogether!"

"And you're willing to bet your soul on these assumptions?"

"We’ve already been on the ground for three hours," I said, spreading my arms. "If he wanted to attack today, he would have done it by now."

Resignation slowly but surely appeared on Rion's face. My arguments left no room for further debate. Or maybe he knew me well enough to understand that I wasn’t going to back down from my plan. So arguing would be pointless.

Either way, he gave a brief nod and looked at me.

"Get the plane ready."

Family. If you don’t have people in your life who wait for you, people you always want to return to, people you want to hug—rest assured, you are unhappy. A loving family is more important than wealth, status, more important than anything. I realized this truth not too long ago, and I was fortunate enough to experience true happiness. And very soon, I planned to remind myself what it felt like to embrace my loved ones again.

Ella was beyond thrilled when I called her and told her that I’d be at her doorstep in the next couple of hours. She promised to prepare something delicious and to pick up our daughter from daycare. So, I was in for a triple treat.

My plane landed at Geneva International Airport, where the pre-arranged transport was already waiting for us. As usual—three armored vehicles. One for me and Rion, and the others for our heavily armed escort.

By some miracle, we managed to arrive much earlier than planned. It felt as if the universe itself was helping me reunite with my family faster.

"So, no changes?" I asked Rion as the driver steered the wheel toward the suburbs. We sat in the back seat, Rion’s eyes glued to the tablet in his hands, monitoring for any signs of danger. Meanwhile, I was trying to call Ella.

"The satellite's covering a six-kilometer radius from the rendezvous point," Rion replied. "No sign of Ari’s henchmen yet. Or Ari himself."

"Ella's not picking up," I said, putting my phone away after several failed attempts. "Zoom in on the house."

With a few quick finger movements, Rion complied. The screen showed a live satellite feed of the house, displayed in a thermal spectrum. One of the rooms showed a bright heat signature.

"She’s in the kitchen, at the stove," the guardian said.

"Probably cooking to music again," I smiled. "We arrived too early; she hasn't even gone to pick up our daughter yet."

"We’re early, period. You’re still not the executive director," Rion said with a hint of snark.

"Key word, ‘yet.’ Either way, as long as Ari’s on vacation, we’ve got nothing to worry about. Right?"

Rion let out a slightly deeper sigh than usual and continued staring at the tablet. Although he’d agreed to support my little venture with this trip, it was clear he wasn’t too thrilled about it. His anxiety levels were through the roof, but I couldn’t blame him. Caution still held great importance and was the guardian’s main responsibility.

We reached the suburbs in just 15 minutes. Our convoy finally stopped outside a charming little house in a pleasant neighborhood. I felt a wave of nervousness as I took in the sight of my family’s home, as if I’d abandoned them for half a lifetime and had only now decided to return. Even though I knew that wasn’t true, and my wife fully understood the gravity of what I was doing.

Rion kept a close eye on the satellite feed, not stopping until we reached the front door. The bodyguards had already spread out around the perimeter, securing all possible access points to the house.

"She’s still in the kitchen," the guardian said, watching Ella’s heat signature on the tablet.

I adjusted one of the flowers in my oversized bouquet, making sure it looked perfect, then knocked on the door a few times. The thermal signature on the screen hadn’t moved—meaning my wife hadn’t heard the knock. I glanced at Rion and read something in his eyes that suggested, "Maybe we should just forget this and leave?" That only made me smile.

My hand shot up to knock again, but froze midair. On a whim, I turned the door handle, and to my surprise, it gave way. The door creaked open, and muffled music spilled out from inside.

"See? Just like I said, she’s cooking to music," I told Rion with full confidence. His expression grew even more suspicious.

"Don’t lock the door," he warned. "Be ready to bolt at any second."

"I doubt it’ll come to that. And I suggest you keep an eye on the bigger picture," I zoomed out on his tablet screen to show the wider satellite view of the area. "No need to monitor what the two heat signatures will be doing for the next hour."

I winked at him and stepped inside. Just before I turned away, I caught him raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. What did he expect, that I’d be having tea with my wife after four months of separation?

The door closed silently behind me.

The hallway was dim, lit only by the glow spilling from what seemed to be the kitchen. I glanced around, looking for a light switch, but couldn’t find one in the half-light, so I just followed the glow.

"Sweetheart!" I called out loudly, trying to be heard over the music. "It’s me, your husband! Don’t shoot me!"

Wouldn’t that be ironic—dying from the gun I had left my wife for self-defense? With each step, the unpleasant thought seemed to become a more likely scenario. I felt like I was in some kind of thriller—walking through the dark toward the light, flowers in hand, with loud music blaring. Meanwhile, my wife, possibly hearing someone in the house, might already have grabbed the gun, ready to use it. Shoot first, ask questions later—that was definitely her style.

"Sweetheart, we managed to arrive a little early! It’s Leo, your child’s father! And I’ve got flowers!"

My little jokes helped calm my nerves, but the eerie feeling persisted. Finally, I reached the archway leading to the kitchen. The smell was incredible—definitely cookies. She baked them perfectly.

Just to be safe, I stuck my hand through the archway first, the one holding the bouquet.

"Ella, it’s your loving husband! Please don’t shoot him!"

I cautiously stepped into the kitchen, flashing my signature grin—though it quickly faded. The room was empty. This only deepened the unsettling thought that maybe she had heard something and managed to hide. That growing sense of pointless danger was starting to creep over me.

My eyes landed on an iPod docked into portable speakers—the culprit behind this strange situation. I crossed the kitchen and turned off the music.

"Ella, it’s me! Come out! Sorry for scaring you! You didn’t hear the knock, and the door was open."

I turned toward the source of the divine smell—the stove. There was a tray of those cookies I love so much. I came closer and, to my surprise, noticed that almost half of the cookies had been shamelessly eaten. And one of them lay half-bitten. Could it be that out of loneliness, my wife had devoured so many, even though she usually limited herself to one or two?

"Ellie?" I called out again, looking at the second exit from the kitchen.

Only ringing silence answered. Bad thoughts flooded my mind. Now that the music was off, and it was easy to recognize my voice, why wasn’t my wife responding? The longer it went on, the less I liked being here.

I slowly left the kitchen through another archway, finding myself in a dark living room—or at least it seemed like a living room. The thick curtains blocked the daylight, making it hard to be sure. There were no light switches in sight either.

"Sweetie! Stop hiding, it's not funny anymore!"

The silence was becoming truly ominous, and I was starting to feel seriously uneasy. The idea of quickly heading back to Rion and inspecting the house with support seemed like the most reasonable one. Not wanting to delay, I set course for the exit.

Suddenly, I heard the creak of a floorboard behind me. I instantly spun 180 degrees, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. My wife was standing in the doorway, leading from the living room to what appeared to be a bedroom. She stood there in the dark, motionless, like she was playing out a scene from a horror movie. And she had definitely succeeded in scaring me.

"Jesus Christ!" I cursed, nearly dropping the bouquet. The adrenaline spike made stars dance in front of my eyes. Then the inevitable, slightly hysterical, laugh escaped me. "Alright, I deserved that. I scared you, you scared me. One–one. I didn’t mean to, sorry. You play your music way too loud."

I rubbed my eyes, shaking off the stars and calming myself. Yet, Ella still stood in the doorway, silent. Her behavior puzzled me. Whatever it was, holding a grudge right now was out of place—and what was there to be upset about anyway? After such a long separation, there was no room for anything but passionate hugs.

"Are you just going to stand there?" I spread my arms wide, hinting at a hug.

Finally, the ice began to melt. Emotions took over. My wife started walking toward me, but with her very first step, my smile faltered. Something was off in the way she moved—her usual grace was gone. Her figure had lost its shape, as if she had been starving for months. Her long hair was now shorter, covering half of her face—an uncharacteristic hairstyle for Ella. The person approaching me seemed like a stranger.

I tried to say something, but the words stuck in my throat as a hand with a gun appeared from behind her back. She slowly raised it, pointing the barrel at my chest.

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I froze, arms still outstretched, my heart pounding like a drum. I couldn’t process what was happening. As the kitchen light hit the approaching figure’s face, I saw greasy, tangled long hair, a crazed look, and days-old stubble. It wasn’t Ella standing before me—and if it was, I definitely wasn’t a fan of her new look. No, it was a gaunt man, completely disheveled, looking like a homeless person.

A burglar who had broken into the house?

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"Don’t you recognize me?" he rasped, forcing a shaky smile with trembling lips.

The voice... it was painfully familiar. Where had I heard it before, and from whom? I stared into his eyes, searching through memories of people I might have wronged in the past. Despite the many faces—former business partners, collaborators, acquaintances—those who bore a grudge against me could be counted on one hand.

Still, none of them had a reason to show up at my wife’s house, gun in hand.

"No guesses?" he stepped closer, and his face became clearer.

I stared at him again, and suddenly, a wave of terror washed over me.

I recognized him, though it was hard to believe it was really him standing before me. It had been over six years since we last saw each other, but he looked as if he'd aged twenty. Deep wrinkles carved into his face, his lips were shriveled, and his mouth twisted unnaturally to one side. He was gaunt, sickly, and full of a burning rage. Probably the only person in the world who had every reason to be pointing a gun at me.

"Jan?" I croaked, swallowing the lump in my throat.

"That's right, boss," he sneered, his hand with the gun twitching menacingly. "Recognize me?"

My fingers loosened, and the bouquet fell to the floor. Fear gripped me—not just because of the gun aimed at me, though that was part of it—but because of the realization of what Jan had become, and that it was my fault. Yes, I had wanted to humiliate him, to punish him for his actions, to make him suffer. But I had never intended to completely destroy his life, to turn him into a shadow of a man.

In my mind, I had only sought to shatter his arrogance, his self-importance, and his overconfidence. But now, seeing the results of my efforts filled me with a sense of horror—especially from a moral standpoint. If I could go back, I would have done things differently. I would never have targeted the head of the prison guards, would never have paid him any attention in that fateful pub. But there was no going back—no more rebirths for me.

"Quite the surprise... seeing you here," Jan spoke with a stammer, his voice laced with malice. "I expected to find just your wife, and through her... to get to you. She’s quite the cook."

For all the time Rion and I had been watching that heat signature in the house, we were sure it was Ella in the kitchen. Who could have imagined that the one actually cooking was a deranged psychopath devouring my cookies?

I stood motionless, my arms still raised, as my thoughts raced. Why hadn’t I listened to Rion? Why had I come here ahead of time? Then again, if I hadn’t shown up, Jan would have had my wife and child at his mercy. I shudder to think what he might have done to them, how it all could have ended. Better me than them. But one thing still didn’t make sense…

"How did you even find this place?" I asked.

"Oh!" Jan’s eyes lit up. "Turns out, I’m not the only one who wants you dead. I’ve been searching for you everywhere for years, and a couple of months ago, this guy shows up. He offers to help, gives me money, tells me about your constant travels. He told me about your wife. You’re so hard to track down, but she isn’t. The rest was just a matter of connections. Wonderful old connections. And now, here we are..."

"Ari. Who else, if not that son of a bitch? But how the hell did he find Jan? Though, what difference does it make? I'll figure it out if I get out of this mess alive.

"I’ve imagined this moment for years..."

"Listen... if you pull that trigger, you'll ruin your life for good," I began, carefully choosing my words.

"There’s only one reason I haven’t done what I came here to do..."

"I regret that horrible act. But I can help you, I can fix everything..."

"...I want to know... what for?"

"Jan..."

"WHAT HAVE I DONE TO YOU!?"

If only Rion could hear his scream. But he was unlikely to be standing outside, ear pressed to the door. So, I could only help myself.

Jan refused to hear me. His whole body trembled with tension and anger. How do you appeal to the reason of a man blinded by a desire for revenge? No explanations, no justifications, not even pleas for mercy would help. I had no intention of resorting to that. I had only one chance left—counterattack.

"You ruined five years of my life," I said in an accusing tone. "Made them unbearable."

"What..." Jan's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"You beat me, sicked Kosa on me, made me suffer..."

"You... no..." Jan stumbled. "You weren’t a prisoner," he said uncertainly.

"Do you think I did something terrible? Remember your actions. How many lives did you ruin on a whim? Just to get your kicks?"

"You... weren’t... you weren’t there..."

"How many arms, legs, and ribs were broken at your command? For no reason, just because someone looked at you the wrong way?"

"No..."

"You know I’m right! You’re no saint. And what you went through, many prisoners went through because of you!"

"Shut up! Shut your mouth!"

The gun in his hand trembled violently. It was time to wrap up the counterattack, for the shot could happen accidentally, just from his trembling. Jan seemed to be working something over in his mind, never taking his eyes off me, and it looked like he might either burst into tears or become even angrier.

It seemed I had achieved what I wanted. I had pointed out his guilt. I had sown the seeds of doubt in him that urgently needed to be cultivated.

"I didn’t want to bring you to this point. Let me help you, I know how to fix everything. Get your life back on track. My death won’t bring you relief. There are plenty of my people around, you’ll have nowhere to run. You’ll get a life sentence. Guess what the prisoners will do to a former prison guard."

I hoped that Jan didn’t plan to shoot me and then commit suicide. And that hope seemed to be justified. He hesitated. It looked like rational doubts were starting to push aside his thirst for revenge. Conflicting emotions tormented him from within—it was written all over his face. His eyes darted in all directions, his teeth were clenched, and from his trembling mouth came some choked sounds mixed with growls. It wouldn’t hurt to suggest his next move.

“Put the gun down, Jan,” I politely offered. “I’ll do everything to help you. I give you my word.”

And I intended to keep my word. Despite the fact that he was a moral monster capable of the most despicable acts—even he didn’t deserve such a fate. Had I found out about it another way, not firsthand under the gun’s barrel, I would still have made every effort to help him. I had really crossed the line, and there was nothing to be proud of.

Jan continued to mull over my proposal. It seemed that some part of him was eager to take me at my word. Where were such bold conclusions coming from?

He still hadn’t pulled the trigger.

***

Rion sat in the car, relentlessly scrutinizing the tablet screen, zooming in on the area around the house and then zooming out to the general viewing radius. The alarming dots indicating Ari’s agents still hadn’t appeared on the map. The bodyguards were in their designated positions, and a minute ago they had gone through a roll call, confirming that everything was quiet around. Two heat signatures in the house’s living room merged into one.

So far, everything was going perfectly; nothing indicated trouble. But despite all the successes of that day and the previous months, a nagging sense of dread clung to Rion. A constant foreboding of failure followed him closely, and he couldn’t shake it off.

No matter what Leo thought, Rion would only be able to relax when he personally saw his name on the “White Archive” list. Until then, he had to be ready for anything to happen at any moment.

“Two people are approaching the house,” Rion heard in his earpiece. “They passed the visor check.”

“Copy that,” he replied.

Nothing special; there were plenty of houses in the area, and many people lived in them. But just in case, the guardian located the two approaching dots on his device and turned to face the direction from which they were about to come around the corner.

First came a little smiling girl, around five years old. Even if the enemy had devised some magical way to bypass the visors, they would never use the body of a tiny child as a vessel. With those dimensions, there were no chances in close combat.

She was holding her mother’s hand, who was cheerfully telling her something. Together, they radiated genuine emotions that no devilish creature could possibly imitate. And despite all his efforts, Rion couldn’t convince himself that this pair posed even a hint of danger.

He shifted his gaze away from them, intending to return to his tasks, when suddenly he immediately focused back on the mother. Something prickled inside him and shot through his entire body like an electric jolt. His eyes widened in horror. There it was—“anything could happen at any moment.”

Leo’s wife.

The guardian had seen her before, and although he didn’t recognize her immediately, he definitely knew her. But he wanted to see the least possible way she could be heading home, where she should have been all this time. Who, then, was Leo “enjoying” his meeting with?

Rion looked at the house, managing to find a single word to describe the depth of his shock.

“Shit…”

***

The gears in Jan’s head continued to turn rapidly, searching for the right solution. He still aimed the gun at me, but he had noticeably calmed down. His eyes no longer darted around; they focused on one point—somewhere around my feet.

His rapid, shallow breathing steadied, and the grimace of pain faded from his face. Everything seemed to be heading toward a successful conclusion for our little meeting. Nevertheless, to finally breathe a sigh of relief, I decided to speed up the process a bit.

Only three steps separated me from the former head of security. Keeping my hands raised, I slowly took the first step.

“Come on, Jan, enough. Put the gun down.”

He looked into my eyes with a healthy dose of distrust.

“You didn’t catch Ella because she went to daycare to pick up our daughter. She’ll be back soon. When my people see her, they’ll all understand and rush here. They can’t see you with a gun in your hand.”

Meanwhile, I took a second step backward. Taking the third step would mean bumping my forehead against the barrel, so I decided to hold off on that for now. I slowly extended my left hand toward him.

“Give it to me. Let’s avoid gunfire today.”

And I froze.

Everything around us froze. A grave silence enveloped the room, where it felt like you could hear a butterfly’s wings flutter. We stared into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity, as if competing to see who could outlast the other. Those seconds felt like the longest of my life.

Jan was the first to look away. He began to nod his head slightly, as if agreeing with my words. The gun slowly started to lower, no longer aimed at my face.

A huge wave of relief spread pleasantly through my body. Jan was trusting me! I could only imagine how hard it was for him to do that. This time, his trust would be justified. Everything would end well for both of us.

But just as thunder shatters a clear sky, the sound of a door handle clicking broke the tense silence in the living room. Suddenly. Loudly. It sent a short but intense shock through both of us. I flinched and turned my head toward the hallway. Jan jolted as well.

BANG!

A much louder sound erupted. Something painfully struck me in the chest, and a moment later, in my back. I couldn’t comprehend what was happening, who was hitting me from all sides. Sparks erupted from my eyes; I lost feeling in my legs, and someone slammed something into my rear.

The picture gradually clarified. The sparks transformed into a murky veil. I saw Jan—he was standing further away than just a second ago, looking down at me. A strong fatigue enveloped my body. I lowered my gaze, trying to understand the cause of my condition, and was horrified by what I saw. Just left of the center of my chest, blood seeped from a round hole.

I raised my hand to the wound, hoping this was all a lie, that it wasn’t real, that it wasn’t blood. But the sticky liquid on my fingers confirmed the opposite.

Everything became clear. The loud sound was a gunshot. The jolt in my chest—a direct hit. The impact to my back had knocked me against the wall. The blow to my rear was me collapsing to the floor. Whether I wanted it or not—Jan had pulled the trigger.

A fog I couldn’t comprehend enveloped me. My movements became oddly slow, as if someone had slowed down time. I struggled to lift my head and saw Jan again. His terrified face, the strong tremor in his hands, the guilt in his eyes. His confused gaze darted around, then suddenly froze on me. All emotions vanished from his face, replaced by something that resembled resignation. Unexpectedly, he pressed the gun to his temple.

Another shot echoed through the living room. This time, it was much more muted, as if it came from a distance, from some tunnel. Jan collapsed to the floor, face down. A pool of blood began to spread around his head.

“Leo!”

Rion emerged from the thickening fog. He was so close, yet his voice sounded far away.

“What the hell!” he said slowly and hoarsely. “Hold on! Call an ambulance!” He turned to someone I couldn’t see.

I couldn’t move my arms; my neck refused to obey. A coldness spread from my chest throughout my body. I wanted to call out for my wife, to speak her name, but I could barely muster an indistinct sound. Rion was pressing something against my wound and applying pressure.

The fog in my eyes joined a flicker of light; I felt I could no longer focus on my friend.

“Look at me!” came a voice from somewhere in front. “Don’t close your eyes! Look at me, Leo!”

Fighting against drowsiness became impossible. There were no more strength or desire left. My lungs made one last exhale when something grasped me from behind and pulled me away. The foggy image of Rion transformed into a round screen that quickly receded. I saw my legs and arms flailing in the wind before me, as if I were being propelled backward at insane speed.

“Look at me!” it sounded completely otherworldly.

The screen continued to shrink in size. The light emanating from it dimmed. With each passing second, I could see my limbs less and less clearly.

“Don’t you dare die!”

The last sounds faded away; the screen became a barely visible dot. An impenetrable darkness completely obscured my body from view. It became incredibly easy and peaceful.

I surrendered completely to sleep.

A crowd of people, several dozen in total, gathered on that gloomy day to bid farewell to Leo Rutis. Among them were business partners, all the board members, CEO Rob Foster, whose name would forever remain in the "White Archive." Cousin Max and old friend Dan flew in from afar. And, of course, there were the grieving parents, along with Leo's wife and daughter.

Rion stood at a distance, watching with equal bitterness as the coffin was lowered into the ground. He hadn’t wanted to come; he didn’t want to face Ella—the guilt of what had happened tormented him too deeply. He had failed his one duty—he hadn’t protected his charge. He hadn’t lived up to the high title of "Guardian." Once again, he had allowed Ari to prevail.

He watched as life faded from Leo's eyes, felt his soul slip away from his inner radar. He witnessed the agony of Leo’s wife and the confusion of their daughter, waiting for her mother at the threshold of their home. Horrible images forever etched in his memory. And it was all because of him.

But he could not force himself to skip the funeral. His absence would mean disrespect to a fallen friend. He owed it to him to be there.

Each person in the crowd mourned in their own way. Relatives wept, others remained silent, some whispered to their neighbors, and others tried to comfort the widow.

People react to death differently. Many try to console themselves with the thought that the person has moved on to a better place. Close ones often love to believe this. But what was worse was that Ella did not belong to that group. She was the only one who knew that there was no better world awaiting him. And this made her emotional torment even more unbearable.

One by one, or in pairs, the crowd began to disperse. Rion stood still for a long time, watching as the grave was filled with dirt.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured to himself.

He wanted to leave immediately, but his feet seemed rooted to the ground. To his astonishment, Ella suddenly turned her head and looked directly at him. Somehow, she recognized Rion, even though he had changed vessels since their last meeting.

“It’s you!” Ella cried out, quickly making her way toward him. “It’s all your fault!”

Perhaps her realization stemmed solely from the Guardian's sunglasses; either way, he didn’t plan to deny anything.

“You were supposed to protect him!” she shouted through her tears. “You were supposed to stop him from coming!”

Rion had tried to avoid this exact situation. The just accusations of the widow weighed heavily on his already immense guilt.

“You're to blame for everything!” she continued, running up to him and beginning to pummel his chest with her fists. “It’s all because of you!”

Rion did not dare to resist her blows. He stood silently with his head bowed, unable to find the right words.

Suddenly, Ella’s legs gave way. At the last moment, the Guardian caught her and held her tightly. Overcome with grief, she burst into tears.

“Bring him back,” she said, barely coherently. “Please, bring him back…”

If only there were a way, even the slightest hint of its existence, Rion would tear his soul apart to fulfill her request. But after hundreds and thousands of years, having tried every imaginable and unimaginable option to free his beloved from Ari's clutches, he had to come to terms with the terrible truth.

“It’s impossible…”

EPILOGUE

I’m not dead…

Definitely not dead…

I struggled to open my eyes, feeling an overwhelming fatigue that made me think I was in a hospital, successfully brought back from the brink.

That was my mistaken belief until I fully regained consciousness and opened my eyes wide. This place didn’t resemble a hospital room in the slightest. It was a spacious, irregularly shaped chamber with dirt instead of a floor, and sharp, rocky walls and ceiling. It didn’t even qualify as a "room." It resembled a cave. However, a door was distinctly visible before me. Unfortunately, that was the first thing I saw when I woke up.

Not the ceiling, which people typically see when lying down. No, it was the door—from quite a height. Only a couple of seconds later did I realize I wasn’t lying down, nor was I standing. My legs didn’t touch the ground, dangling several centimeters above it. My wrists were painfully restrained by steel shackles, a chain of which disappeared high into the numerous stalactites above.

I was suspended like a carcass for freshening!

Casting aside premature panic, I immediately began to writhe my entire body in an attempt to break free from the ceiling’s chain. Gathering my last ounce of strength, I pulled up and yanked down hard. The shackles literally sliced the skin off my wrists, but all my efforts proved futile. I roared in rage and pain, straining for freedom for long, torturous minutes, yet the chain remained unyielding.

Drops of blood dripped onto my forehead from my torn wrists. I took a brief pause, preparing for another attempt, when suddenly, distant screams echoed from somewhere behind me. Terrible, gut-wrenching cries, as if someone was being brutally tortured.

Turning around took considerable effort. I twisted my hips first in one direction and then the other. I flailed my legs, managing to start rotating. I finally turned my back to the door, and my jaw dropped at what I saw.

If my situation didn’t bode well before, now even the slightest hope for a happy ending had completely evaporated.

Before me unfolded a mesmerizing yet terrifying scene. The back wall of the cave was completely absent. Ahead lay a view of jagged cliffs stretching for hundreds of kilometers in all directions, disappearing beyond the horizon. They were pockmarked with hundreds, if not thousands, of holes, undoubtedly leading to other caves like mine. Where, presumably, countless others like me hung from the ceilings as prisoners. This was at least indicated by the cries of pain and suffering emanating from everywhere.

The scene was completed by an absolutely fantastic sky, shrouded in dark burgundy, thick clouds. They rolled in massive waves, creating the impression that an ocean with an unusual color of water was storming above.

My place of captivity loomed over all this sinister beauty, as if I had been given a room in the highest cliff with the best view from the window. A luxury suite for a VIP guest whose name had recently adorned the prestigious “White Archive.” A very rare visitor in a world called—Hell.

The fact that I had ended up in hell was beyond doubt. You wouldn’t find such a sky on Earth. Unable to bear it any longer, I closed my eyes and relaxed my neck, despairingly dropping my head. I was overcome by a feeling I had never felt before—self-pity.

Be careful what you wish for; they have a way of coming true. I wished for immortality, eternal rebirths, and now I awaited a truly eternal life. A truly miserable one. A worthless existence, full of monstrous mockery and torture. Another endless scream that would drown in a thousand others.

This is what happens when you do not engage in what you should. Not what you were born for. When you ultimately live a life that is, for the most part, meaningless. Wasted time that you can never get back. I would now have an eternity to mourn all of this.

The only door to my “quarters” swung open loudly, crashing against the wall. I flinched in fear, my wrists painfully jerking in the shackles. You didn’t have to be a genius to understand—one of those who brings forth all these cries had come to see me. My personal torturer. As I twisted my hips, I began to slowly turn to face the intruder.

Tall, plump, broad-shouldered, with a goatee—he had clearly belonged to the upper class in life. He stood in the doorway, looking at me with fiery red eyes and smirking, as if relishing the moment of my torment.

Hmmm, interesting, do I now have sun-colored eyes too?

“Welcome to your new home, Leo Rutis,” he said maliciously, stretching the words.

That tone, that condescension in his voice—who would doubt that Ari personally wanted to deal with me? However, I had envisioned him quite differently—someone resembling a thug from an alley.

“Brought a gift?” I managed to say as evenly as possible.

A sense of humor that had no place here still refused to leave me. Or perhaps I was just trying to mask my fear of the inevitable with it. Ari laughed heartily.

“Make jokes while you can. Soon enough, the jokes will diminish.”

“I’ve heard something like that before. From someone who recently shot himself in front of my eyes. Maybe it’s time to follow the trend? Get my drift?”

“Poor Jan Titov,” Ari slowly approached me. “Perhaps the only person who hated you even more than I do. The perfect candidate to delegate my task to. After all, I have a lot to do, you know. Thanks to your friend Greg for the tip.”

Ari stopped in front of me, savoring my reaction—my fleeting surprise quickly replaced by confusion.

“Oh yes,” he drawled. “While I was in his skin, I rummaged around in his head. Before tossing you out of the airplane. By the way, he’s here too. Somewhere in these cliffs. Perhaps one of those screams belongs to him. It turns out, in past lives, your friend sinned quite a bit. Praise the Higher Court! And yes… before I forget…”

Ari’s fist suddenly struck my side. A crunch echoed, and I was pierced by a hellish (literally hellish) pain. A tortured scream escaped me, barely suppressed. That familiar sensation of having ribs broken.

“How pleasant,” he reveled in my suffering. “And believe me, it will never get more enjoyable than this.”

I struggled to open my eyes, trying to endure the sharp pain that made it difficult to breathe. Everything indicated that five years in prison would seem like a kindergarten compared to the long time I would spend with Ari.

I felt him step away from me, and a couple of seconds later, his voice came from somewhere to my right.

“However, I did have to chase after you. In my long life, I’ve never had a client as problematic as you. You can take that as a compliment. It’s remarkable; at one point, you even made me doubt myself. I had to make a deal with Rion, hand over his little bitch to him. You made me show weakness. No one has managed that before…”

I opened my eyes, staring at the floor. In all the absurd nonsense Ari was spewing, I unexpectedly discerned a single grain of truth. I was one of the very few people in the world capable of doing what others couldn’t. The realization of this fact swiftly took hold of my mind, reviving the most essential thing a person can have in life.

Hope.

For centuries, no one had managed to escape death at the hands of Ari. But I had escaped—he lacked the strength, and he sent Jan instead. For centuries, Ari had never made concessions to anyone, yet I had forced him to. For centuries, no one had escaped from hell. Why couldn’t I be the first here too?

I still had a goal—to return to my family. And I had to do it at any cost. Nothing is impossible. There is a way out of any place, out of any situation. You just have to search carefully.

I would endure any trials, withstand any tortures. That sick bastard would never make me beg for mercy. Never.

Ari grew before me from out of nowhere. In his hand was a massive knife with terrible, hooked blades. In movies, such knives are used to gut and hook intestines, spilling them out.

He brought the tip of the knife to my chest and slowly drew it down, leaving a deep, thin cut. I gritted my teeth, swallowing my scream.

“You’ve ruined my rating,” he said, his previously restrained tone shifting into bitterness. It was clear he was burning with impatience to move from banter to unending action. “You’ve tarnished what I have worked on for thousands of years.” The cut reached my solar plexus. “Now it will take a lot of time to fix everything…”

The cut reached my navel and stopped. Ari looked into my eyes, his expression anticipating the beginning. The prelude was over. He paused ominously for added terror.

“… but your pain will last much longer.”

I would manage. I would endure.

I wouldn’t break.

“Come on, you bastard, start!” I shouted.

Ari’s face filled with rage.

A swing.

Pain.

A scream…