The nightmare came again...
Fire licked at the edges of my consciousness, persistent and hungry. Voices whispered from the flames—unintelligible at first, then gradually forming words that slithered into my mind like smoke.
*Your purpose awaits. Twenty souls.... before the world destroys*
I thrashed against my sheets, my body drenched in sweat despite the October chill seeping through my apartment windows. The digital clock on my nightstand glowed 3:33 AM—the same time I'd awakened every night this week.
I sat up, gasping, pressing my palms against my eyes until bright spots flash in the darkness burst behind my eyelids. The dreams were getting worse. More vivid, It is real.
"Just stress," I muttered to the empty room. "Just work stress and birthday anxiety."
Twenty-five. I was turning twenty-five today. A completely unremarkable age, and yet dread had been building in my chest for months, as if something terrible waited for me at the stroke of midnight.
Sleep was impossible now. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded to the bathroom, not bothering with the lights. I splashed cold water on my face, then gripped the edges of the sink, and bowed my head.
When I finally looked up, the bathroom was no longer dark.
My reflection stared back at me from the mirror, but my eyes glowed ember-red in the darkness. I stumbled backward, blinking hard, but the glow remained.
"What the—"
A sharp pain shot through my left shoulder, driving me to my knees. I fumbled for the light switch, flipping it on with trembling fingers. In the harsh fluorescent glare, I twisted to see my back in the mirror.
Black lines were spreading across my skin like ink in water, forming an intricate pattern of swirls and some symbols I somehow recognized despite never having seen them before. The design pulsed once, then settled into my skin the second time as if it had always been there.
"This isn't happening," I whispered, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew this was more real than anything I'd experienced in my twenty-five years of life.
Something was awakening inside me. Something that had been long waiting.
****
The Institute of Art's restoration department was blissfully quiet at 7 AM. I'd arrived early, desperate for the comfort of routine and the distraction of work. I pulled my dark hair into a tight bun and slipped on my white lab coat, my new markings were hidden safely beneath layers of my clothing.
The Visconti triptych: a rare classical artwork consisting of three panels, waited for me. it's a centuries-old paint requiring the steadiest of hands and the most careful of touches. I lost myself in the delicate work, grateful that the meticulous nature of restoration required my complete focus.
"You're here early, Kaufman."
My hand jerked, nearly sending my brush across the painting. I turned to find Martin Fraser, the department head, watching me with his usual expression of mild disapproval.
"Yeah, just eager to finish the triptych," I replied, struggling to sound normal. "The exhibition opens next month."
Martin nodded, his attention already drifting to the painting. "The board is particularly interested in this piece. We have a potential donor coming in today who specifically asked about our restoration techniques."
"Today?" I fought to keep my voice steady. All I wanted was to get through this strange day without incident, preferably alone.
"He's specifically interested in your work, actually. Apparently, he saw your restoration of the Delacroix: 'An old French painter work' last year and was impressed." Martin's tone suggested he couldn't quite understand why. "He'll be here at two. Try to be... presentable."
The subtle glance at my tattooed wrist—an ouroboros I'd gotten on my twenty-first birthday—made his meaning clear. I nodded tightly, turning back to my work as Martin left.
Under different circumstances, a wealthy donor interested in my work would have been exciting. Today, it felt like one more complication I couldn't handle.
My phone buzzed with a text message.
*Happy birthday, sweetheart! Dinner tonight at Giovanni's, 7 PM. Don't be late! Love you! from Emma*
I smiled despite myself. Emma had been my mother's best friend and had become my surrogate family after the accident three years ago. I'd have to pull myself together by dinner time. Emma was too perceptive; she'd immediately sense something was wrong.
I returned to my work, but as the morning progressed, strange things kept happening. While reaching for a solvent, I knocked over a bottle, but before it could spill, my hand moved with impossible speed to catch it. In the break room, I overheard my colleagues' conversation from across the building... not just their words, but somehow their unspoken thoughts as well.
*God, I hate this job. If my wife knew what I was doing with Stephanie...*
*She thinks she's so special with her fancy degree. She'll never get the promotion...*
*If I could just get through today without the shakes. Just need one drink...*
I pressed my hands over my ears, but the thoughts continued, a tumult of secrets and darkness I had no right to hear. I fled to the restroom, locking myself in a stall until the voices faded.
By the time two o'clock approached, I was barely holding it together. My skin felt too tight, the markings on my back start burning beneath my clothes. The lights in the restoration lab seemed painfully bright, and every sound echoed in my sensitive ears.
"Ms. Kaufman?" The security guard poked his head into the lab. "Your two o'clock is here. I've put him in the viewing room."
I nodded, taking a deep breath and straightening my lab coat. I could do this. Just get through this meeting, then dinner with Emma, then I could figure out what was happening to me.
The viewing room was dimly lit to protect the more sensitive pieces. A man stood with his back to me, examining a recently restored medieval manuscript under the specialized lighting.
"Mr.—" I realized Martin hadn't mentioned the donor's name.
"Malachai," the man supplied, turning to face me. "Just Malachai." he added.
He was striking rather than handsome... he has a sharp cheekbones, his eyes were so dark they appeared black in the low light, and a smile that didn't quite reach those eyes. Something about him sent a chill down my spine, making the markings on my back pulse in response.
"You've been doing remarkable work, Ariel." He spoke my name with familiar ease. "Bringing beauty back from the brink of destruction. There's power in that... in restoration, in rebirth." he added.
"Thank you," I said carefully. "Are you interested in a particular restoration technique?"
Malachai smiled again, stepping closer. "I'm interested in you, Ariel Kaufman. Or should I say, Ariel Asmodea."
The name struck me like a physical blow. I had never heard it before, and yet it resonated within me like the toll of a bell.
"I don't... I do not understand—"
"Yes, you do." His voice dropped lower. "The dreams. The markings. The voices you can suddenly hear. You're changing, Ariel. Awakening to your true nature."
Panic fluttered in my chest. "How do you know about that?"
"Because I've been waiting for this day." Malachai moved closer, his dark eyes now glinting with red. The same ember-red I'd seen in my own reflection. "I'm here to guide you through your awakening. Happy birthday, Ariel. Today is the first day of your real life."
He reached out, pressing a finger to the center of my forehead. Pain exploded behind my eyes as images flooded my mind—fire and darkness, screams and whispers, and above it all, a sense of terrible purpose.
"What are you?" I gasped when the vision receded.
Malachai's smile widened, revealing teeth that's too sharp to be human.
"The better question, my dear, is what are *you*." He circled me slowly, like a predator. "You were born of human parents, yes, but conceived through an ancient pact. Your soul is not theirs, Ariel. You are one of us. A demon walking in human skin."
"That's insane," I whispered, but even as I denied it, something deep inside me recognized the truth in his words.
"The markings on your back are your true name written in the language of the abyss. Your awakening has begun, and now you must fulfill your purpose." Malachai's voice took on a hypnotic quality. "Twenty souls, Ariel. You must collect twenty souls tainted by darkness and sin. With each one, your power will grow until you can fulfill your ultimate destiny."
"Which is what?" My voice sounded distant to my own ears.
"To break the final seal and bring forth our master's reign. To end this world and begin a new one." His eyes blazed fully red now. "You were born for this, Ariel. Born to bring about the downfall of humanity."
The room seemed to spin around me. Part of me wanted to scream, to run, to deny everything this man... this *thing* was saying. But another part, a part that felt increasingly powerful with each passing moment, recognized the call of my blood.
"I can hear people's thoughts," I said finally. "Dark things. Secrets."
"You hear the darkness in their souls," Malachai confirmed. "The very darkness that makes them to be an easy target."
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
His expression hardened. "The awakening cannot be undone, Ariel. You will grow stronger, hungrier. The need to feed on souls will consume you until you are nothing but appetite. Better to embrace your nature, to control it rather than let it control you."
He extended his hand. "Come with me let me show you how to take your first soul. Once you taste that power, you'll understand."
I stared at his outstretched hand, my entire existence balanced on the edge of a knife. Everything I thought I knew about myself was crumbling, replaced by a terrible new reality I couldn't fully comprehend.
But beneath the fear and confusion, something else stirred. curiosity, Power.... and hunger.
"Just one," I heard myself say. "I want to understand what's happening to me."
Malachai's smile was triumphant as I placed my hand in his. "My dear Ariel, you're about to discover what you were always meant to be."
As we left the viewing room together, I felt the last fragments of my human life falling away behind me. Ahead lay darkness and fire... and a destiny written in the language of the abyss, spelled out in the markings on my skin.
*Twenty souls to end humanity.*
*The awakening had begun.*