(One hour before Edeh's death)
The sky was an open wound.
A crust of fire, smoke, and ash covered Pondcross, and the light from the fires painted his family's faces with a tone somewhere between fear and farewell. Edras held the car door open, watching as everyone got in one by one. He said nothing, but inside his chest, something was beginning to tear.
Jota took Saida's hand and helped her into the back seat. Adelise turned one last time towards the hill, towards the burning village, and then got in. Sira climbed in with Ela still clinging to her neck as if the world were about to swallow her whole.
Only he was left.
The car door closed.
The click echoed in the air like a seal, like the sound that marks the end of something sacred.
Edras was at the wheel.
Saida cried softly.
Adelise tried to hide the trembling of her hands.
Rose clung to her pendant as if she could still intercede for everyone before some god who was now deaf.
Sira held Ela, who was sobbing against her chest, and Jota looked out the window, not fully understanding the magnitude of what they were leaving behind.
"Dad...?" Saida asked in a choked voice. "Are we really going to be okay?"
Edras did not answer immediately. His eyes were fixed on the smoke-stained horizon.
"Yes," he said finally, without emotion. "Everything is going according to plan."
Jota turned to him, suspicious. "Plan...? What did you plan?"
Silence.
Edras did not look at him. His hands rested firmly on the steering wheel, but he did not turn it. He did not start the engine. He did not sigh.
He did not feel the weight of the moment.
Not like them.
Not anymore.
Something inside him had detached itself.
A thought... no.
A silence.
An absence that did not come from logic, but from the soul. As if his consciousness had begun to crack into two planes: one visible, breathing with his family... and another, hidden, walking towards the night.
And in that crack... something awoke.
Not an impulse. Not a command.
A consequence.
Like a black flower sprouting in a dead garden. Like a truth that had always been there, waiting for its moment.
Rose noticed it. She didn't know why, but her gaze hardened.
"Edras..." she said, more quietly. "Are you with us?"
Edras turned his head towards her. The expression on his face was serene, proper, almost comforting.
"Where else would I be?" he murmured, with a smile that did not reach his eyes.
At that moment, a subtle vibration ran through the air. As if an invisible stone had been thrown into the still lake of their reality.
The world became distorted.
The interior of the vehicle became thicker, denser. Time stopped flowing normally.
An imperceptible glow—neither fire, nor light, nor shadow—enveloped his family, crossing their pupils like an eternal blink.
They stopped.
Not completely. Not physically.
But their souls... were suspended.
As if a voice whispered in the back of their minds: Trust. Rest. Everything is fine.
And they did.
Edras was gone.
Not really.
What remained at the wheel was his reflection.
A functional body. A perfect shell. A precise projection that mimicked his gestures, his tone of voice, his protective posture. A convincing echo, so that no one would notice the fracture.
"Ready to go," said the reflection, turning the ignition key. "To the Yellow Zone, all together."
Jota nodded, as if in a dream. Saida rested her head on Adelise. No one spoke anymore.
No one saw him leave.
The real Edras had left the vehicle.
And the world had not registered it.
He did not raise dust. The earth did not crackle under his footsteps.
He no longer walked like a man.
He walked like a crack.
Like a mistake in the fabric of reality.
The fire continued to devour the remains of Pondcross. The ash fell like sickly snow.
Edras advanced towards the centre of the disaster, without looking back, as if that act had been written before his birth.
The wind seemed to retreat in his wake, fearful.
And he, in a low voice, almost whispering, said:
"Father... wait a little longer."
No one answered.
Only the crackling of burning wood...
And a whisper, as old as death, that seemed to have been inside him all along:
"Almost there."
The shadows welcomed him.
And when he emerged from them...
he was already there.
In the midst of chaos.
At the center of the irreversible.
Where blood continued to stain the earth and the bodies of the Devourers floated like wandering soot.
Edeh lay face up on the ruins of stone and fire.
His breathing was heavy, ragged. His chest, pierced. His gaze, confused.
One hand pressed against the open wound, while the other still tried to cling to life.
Edras approached slowly, without hesitation, as if his steps were not his own, but something older than him.
Edeh saw him.
And he still had the strength to utter his name.
"Edras..."
His voice was not just pain. It was confusion.
It was the silent plea of a man who did not understand when it had all begun to fall apart.
"How... How is it possible that... you... have the Abyssal Face? What does this mean? Why... Why would you do this to me... What are your true intentions...?"
Edras did not answer immediately.
The breeze that swept through that place began to swirl particles of ash and stone, as if the world were holding its breath alongside them, sensing the horror that was to come.
"No... you don't need to understand," he finally said with a coldness that chilled Edeh's soul. "After all... your work here has come to an end."
Then it happened.
A movement as swift as it was inevitable.
From Edras' hands emerged a whirlwind of darkness that rose toward the sky, tearing through the air with an ominous hiss.
From the vortex descended a flurry of shadows as dense as the deepest night, completely enveloping Edeh.
"No! ... Noooo!" Edeh screamed as he was consumed by that whirlwind of stone, ash, and emptiness.
His screams of agony faded into a final gasp, leaving nothing but floating particles in the air,
as if that man had never existed.
The swirl of shadows slowly dissipated.
Silence remained.
A silence so thick that not even the wind dared to cross it.
Edeh's figure was gone. Neither her body nor her voice remained.
Only the particles suspended in the air, dancing aimlessly, like the remnants of a soul that had just been exhaled.
Edras did not move.
He stared at the emptiness in front of him with the immobility of a statue. As if he had just erased a memory, not a life.
And inside, everything was still in place. Everything was in order.
Until something trembled.
A sound.
A broken whisper among the ruins.
A lament.
Edras slowly turned his head and saw him.
Among the blackened debris, crushed under a broken beam, Noam was still alive.
Or what was left of him.
His body was a parody of itself:
His right leg was gone.
His left arm hung like a torn rag.
His torso was covered in cuts, open sores, and a burn that crossed his chest.
But his eyes... his eyes were open. And they were looking.
And they recognized him.
"Edras..." Noam gasped, his voice that of someone who had already crossed halfway over the threshold of death. "You... no... why?"
Edras stared at him expressionlessly.
There was no anger in his gaze, no remorse. Only an inevitable conclusion.
Noam had seen.
And Noam had understood.
That was enough.
Edras raised his hand.
From his palm sprang a sphere as dark as the night of creation, trembling softly as if breathing. No fire, no energy, no magic.
A collapse. A negation. A devouring.
Noam tried to crawl. His trembling hand searched for a weapon that was no longer there. His fingers barely brushed the dust.
Fear crossed his face. Not because of the pain.
But because of the betrayal.
"You're one of them..." he murmured, blood dripping from his chin. His eyes dimmed as he spoke. "Edras... you were one of us..."
Edras did not respond.
The sphere descended slowly upon him, like a sentence fallen from the sky.
And when it touched Noam's body, there was no explosion.
Only disintegration.
First the skin. Then the muscles. Then the bones.
Everything broke inward. As if the body were made of wet ash.
As if the soul were being torn out piece by piece.
Noam's eyes were the last to go out.
And in his final expression, there was no longer fear.
There was sadness.
As if even his last breath refused to believe that Edras—the same Edras who shared a table, laughter, life—was now just a walking abyss.
Then came the dust.
And nothing else.
Edras lowered his hand. The darkness retreated to his fingers, like a snake returning to its burrow.
He didn't look back.
He didn't say a word.
He kept walking among the ruins as if the world no longer deserved witnesses.
As if history could only be written with what remained... after oblivion.
Edras kept walking.
The dust still floated around him, as if the world dared not settle on the sins that had just been committed.
He closed his eyes for a moment.
And there, in the formless vastness of his mind, the darkness stirred.
Not as a memory, nor as an emotion. It was something deeper: a network. A channel. A hidden frequency that activated only when the abyss called to the abyss.
"Listen."
His voice did not come from his lips.
It was a thought... but not like human thoughts.
It was a word laden with meaning, seeping into every corner of Pondcross like an echo in the marrow of those who were still there.
The Devourers heard it.
From the charred rooftops.
From the rubble.
From the dark corners where light dared not look.
"The phase is over."
"The anchors have been removed."
"Now... close the cycle."
The silence grew thicker.
And then, the order.
"Kill them all."
A shudder ran through the destroyed city.
It was as if the air contracted.
As if the earth understood what was about to happen.
"All... except one."
Edras opened his eyes.
The pupil of his left eye was no longer human.
It was a dark spiral, an open wound in the very fabric of reality.
"Jota... I want him alive."
The Devourers received the instruction without resistance.
They did not ask questions.
They did not hesitate.
They did not celebrate.
They simply obeyed.
And they began to move.
Through tunnels, through ruined streets, across ash-covered rooftops...
Like specters with claws.
Like soulless blades.
Toward the family.
Toward the vehicle.
Toward the last link that still anchored Edras to the world he must forget.
And as the darkness moved like an impending tide,
Edras turned around.
His footsteps left no traces.
His emotions left no echo.
His conscience left no compassion.
The crack beneath his skin was no longer just a symbol.
It was his true form.
From the neck down, his body seemed sculpted by an ancestral will between human elegance and the brutality of the Devourers. His skin, though partly human, was covered with plates of black and crimson scales that clung to his muscles like living armor. His membranous wings, deep red with blackish edges, extended from his back, curving toward the sky as if echoing ancient curses.
His arms were long, marked by dark veins and unnatural strength. On his forearms and shoulders, bony protuberances emerged like thorns, reminding us that he was not a being of this world. His marked abdomen and sculpted torso concealed the corrupt essence that beat beneath his skin. Red appeared in strips of torn fabric and in marks that looked like rituals engraved with fire on his flesh.
But the most terrifying thing was his face: a humanoid face, with sharp, almost beautiful features... and yet deformed by the presence of the abyss. Dark horns sprouted from his temples, curving backward like a demonic crown. His hair, long and white as ash, floated in the rhythm of the cursed wind that followed him at every step.
And his eyes... oh, his eyes were the only thing that completely shattered the illusion of humanity. They glowed a deep red, with no visible pupils, like embers burning with hatred, power, and hunger.
It was the impossible balance between the seduction of human form... and the unredeemed horror of the Devourer.
The creature advancing through the ruins—half human, half abomination—was no mere monster. Its form was the incarnate representation of a high-level Devourer, one of the few who had achieved a terrifying balance between human flesh and the essence of the Abyss.
For among the Devourers, not all were equal. From their birth in the [Lost Zones] of reality to their ascent up the ladder of power, each was shaped by darkness according to their potential, their hunger... and their will. There are seven levels that define the hierarchy among them:
And Edras was about to reach the pinnacle of his evolution.
His silhouette, still shrouded in ash and emptiness, began to dissolve into something new... something more feared. The line between human and devourer was becoming increasingly blurred. And on the verge of that final transformation, six deep red crystals pulsed at different points on his body: one on his collarbone, two on his forearms, another in the center of his back, one more on his chest, and the last one right on his forehead, embedded like a third eye.
That sixth crystal was an unmistakable sign: Edras had reached the penultimate level in the hierarchy of the Devourers.
There was only one more step left.
The one that would transform him, not into a monster... but into something that perfectly imitated the human form. With a voice, a face, and a presence that could walk among the living undetected. A superior form. A conscious form. The final form.
The hierarchy of the Devourers was clear. A code hidden in flesh and the abyss. A progression that needed no explanation: it was enough to count the abyssal crystals that emerged from their bodies.
Their size, shape, or exact location didn't matter—each crystal was different in each Devourer—but the number was all that mattered. It was the signature, the mark, the sentence.
One was hunger.
Two was obedience.
Three was consciousness.
Four was deception.
Five was form.
Six... was power.
Seven... was destiny.
And Edras, with his six crystals, was one step away from total oblivion.
One step away from ceasing to be a son.
One step away from becoming a god or an abyss.
One step away from no longer looking at the world... but devouring it.
Edras gazed at the horizon shrouded in ruins, while the six crystals embedded in his body pulsed with a deep glow.
In his open hand, a spiral of dark smoke began to form, dancing slowly, spinning as if the air itself obeyed his will. The silhouette of Jota's face appeared fleetingly in the mist, trembling, incomplete... fragile.
Edras smiled with brutal serenity.
And as he slowly closed his hand over that shadow, he spoke in a deep voice, full of certainty:
"Grow as fast as you can...
and let the impulse to do so
be the resentment I leave you with when I destroy everything you love.
When you lose your family...
when hatred for my race is all you have left...
then you will awaken."
He paused, letting the silence permeate the smoke.
"And in you...
I will devour the last remnants of humanity.
Only then
will imperfection cease to exist."
The fist closed.
And the smoke died out.