The wind howled beneath a dark, heavy sky that Thanksgiving afternoon. Thick, storm-like clouds loomed over the small countryside town of Eureka, Kansas. The surrounding cornfields swayed wildly, their dried leaves whipped upward into the gray skies like ocean waves.

  Doors and windows stayed shut against the violent gusts. Stray trash tumbled through the empty streets, piling into abandoned cars and crumbling buildings. But despite the weather, the townsfolk weren’t bracing for a tornado.

  Their fear was aimed at something else—something they heard blaring from every radio and TV.

  Meanwhile, a young boy with dark blonde hair and tired, shadowed eyes pushed against the wind, struggled to reach a farmhouse just outside town. He dragged a bag of tools up the wooden steps but quickly gave up, dropping it right by the door.

  Glancing toward the barn in the distance, his voice broke through the wind.

  “Uncle Sullivan! There’s a storm out here!”

  However, there was no answer.

  Grimacing, the boy pushed his way inside. The old TV in the living room crackled with static, barely holding a shaky local news broadcast. He called again for his uncle, but the house was silent.

  The broadcast carried on as he ran from room to room, nearly tearing the place apart in his search.

  “The total number of missing and dead is still unknown… This might be the worst disaster in the history of our country.”

  “Uncle…” the boy whispered, his throat tightening.

  Then—over the screaming wind—he caught the distant hum of an engine. Rushing to the window, he spotted the familiar white maintenance van pulling up.

  Relief hit him like a wave. He bolted for the front door just as the driver stepped out.

  “Uncle Sullivan, what’s happening?!”

  Sullivan—early forties, short brown hair, scruffy beard—towered over the boy with his broad, muscular frame. But behind that strength was something Soren had never seen before.

  Dropping to one knee, Sullivan grabbed the boy by the shoulders.

  “Listen to me, Soren. There’s no time. The Robinsons are on their way to pick you up. I told them to take the van too.”

  “The Robinsons? Wha—why? What’s happening?”

  “Listen!” Sullivan interrupted. “No matter what happens... don’t look back. Swear it to me, to your parents, for God's sake!”

  Soren’s heart raced. Panic squeezed his chest tight. He had never seen his uncle like this—the man he thought feared nothing.

  Then, Sullivan yanked a pistol from his belt and shoved it into the boy’s trembling hands. The cold weight of it sank into his palms.

  “I... I don’t—”

  “Hold it tight.”

  By now, the wind was ripping through the farm. The house shuddered under the force. A loud crack echoed as the windmill snapped free, flinging into the sky like paper.

  Then they noticed the approaching car headlights. The Robinsons’ truck skidded to a stop. A middle-aged man and his grown son jumped out, rushing toward Sullivan for answers. But whatever they meant to ask vanished the moment they looked upwards.

  Right above the O’Connors’ farm… the sky had split open.

  A massive, upside-down vortex of shadow spun in place—twisting and growing in intensity.

  Soren, still not fully grasping what was happening, was shoved into the van. The neighbor’s son jumped behind the wheel. Both vehicles roared to their start, soon speeding away and leaving Sullivan behind.

  Through the window, Soren stared at his uncle growing smaller in the rearview. His expression said it all—regret… sorrow… but above all, resolve.

  Tears streamed down the boy’s face as he gripped the gun in his lap. The driver glanced at him but said nothing. His main priority was to leave the place.

  Back at the farm, Sullivan stood his ground.The wind battered him, but he didn’t move. His eyes stayed locked on the swirling darkness above.

  Thunder cracked, loud as war drums. And within the howl of wind came something worse—the echo of countless broken voices, like screams from the edge of the world. Something was descending and with it a single drop of evil fell into the world.

  What happened next became the fuel for every nightmare Soren would ever have.

  It happened on November 22nd, 2012: the day demons appeared on Earth.

  *

  “Uncle!”

  A much older Soren jolted awake, hitting the back of his head against the driver’s seat. He had just dozed off behind the wheel, drool trailing from the corner of his mouth into the van’s steering wheel.

  He blinked, collecting himself. The buzzing oh his cellphone had snapped him out of the usual bad dream, then grabbing it off the passenger seat.

  Shit…

  “Hello? Marty?”

  “I already sent you the gig’s location,” a curt voice replied. “Don’t make your client wait.” The call ended right after.

  Did I really fall asleep? Well… I’m still on time.

  The glow of his phone lit up his tired face as he read the text message. With a sigh, he started the engine and pulled out of the mostly empty parking lot.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  The course of highway 70 carried him deep into the heart of Missouri. Even while driving, he took a moment to appreciate the nighttime skyline of Saint Luis–which to him was nothing but another stop on the long ever-changing journey.

  “Okay, Marty. I’m already at the site. Talk to me” he assured, parking the van.

  “The client owns the construction site in front of you. Workers have been reporting strange activity near the end of their shifts.”

  “Any corpses tho? Otherwise it’s very unlikely we are dealing with a demon here. You know I don’t like wasting my time with false positives. And, I remember telling you– I’m done with human targets.”

  “One of the workers saw a ‘strange silhouette’ at the top of the site. Said it didn’t look human.” the other side replied unenthusiastically.

  “Now that’s more like it!” Soren uttered, stepping out the van and loading his dual pistols. “Anything else you’d like to add?”

  “Client wants minimum damage to the building”

  “Well, that’s not really up to me.”

  Marty sighed before continuing with his explanation. “The owner cleared up security for a few hours. However, once you get started, you’ll only have a few minutes before my men pick you out of downtown.”

  Soren stood in front of the unfinished high-rise, exhaling deeply.

  Alright… here we go.

  A swift kick was more than enough to break the lock on the outer fence, allowing him to slip into the construction site. He raised one of his guns, fitted with a flashlight, and aimed into the shadows. Quiet and isolated places were always a first choice for demons to hide in.

  The lower floors showed nothing out of the ordinary for an emptied building. Once he approached the stairs, he proceeded with enough caution necessary to avoid any possible blindspot ambush.

  Nothing here. Is this bastard really gonna be on the last floor? he muttered, eying a maintenance elevator, only to quickly scrap the idea. Although faster, it was also a loud invitation.

  Minutes later, Soren reached the top of the unfinished concrete staircase. His knees ached, his breath ragged from exhaustion. Cold air whipped around him at such heights. He tried not to look down, instead turning towards the skyline.

  Then he saw it.

  A pale, hulking figure sat atop a concrete column–semi humanoid, unnaturally bulky, slightly covered in feathers, with a small pair of wings sprouting from its forehead.

  An angel? No… angels don’t exist.

  The mysterious being noticed him and turned. Now face to face, Soren raised both of his silver-hued pistols.

  “No way in hell an angel is as ugly of a motherfucker as you”

  The thing grinned, exuberant in arrogance– and launched straight at him.

  Soren did not waste any time by hesitating. Instead, he immediately fired both guns, striking several times. Still, the demon landed hard in front of him, shattering the concrete floor beneath its feet before swinging violently.

  “Won’t let you come that close!” Soren shouted, disengaging and shooting at the same time.

  More bullets tore into the creature’s arm and shoulder, however ducking a couple others aimed for the head– all while it kept striding forwards.

  Shit, I need to reload.

  The boy dove behind a pillar, swapping magazines as fast as he could for the spare he kept on his belt. But, the demon had already advanced to his location, smashing through the column with a devastating punch.

  Dust and fragments scattered. The demon’s expression deformed by not finding anything with his fist. Soren, who managed to roll away just in time, opened fire again.

  He's strong. One blow and it’s over for me!

  After tanking some more bullets, the demon roared and hurled concrete debris at him. He dove for cover once more, emptying his clips again.

  So sturdy... How's he not dead yet?

  Soren got ready to attack once more, only to hear a piercing screech that stunned him. When his senses returned, the angel was already about to crush him with his considerable weight. His high reflexes allowed him to dodge but the floor beneath gave up on them due to the scarring from the previous leap. As a result, they both plummeted one level down.

  Dazed from the fall, Soren crawled from the rubble. The demon, buried under debris, exploded with strength to break free. However, the surrounding area remained tainted by dust, allowing Soren to strike– plunging a silver knife right into its side, sliding from hip to abdomen. A torrent of dark blood gushed from the lethal wound.

  Yet, the sudden victory was unexpectedly short-lived. A colossal, almost unnanounced punch still managed to reach the boy’s chest, launching him across the floor.

  He slammed against one of the concrete foundations. Tons of blood poured from his mouth at once. With broken ribs, a pierced lung, blurred vision– he was barely conscious.

  Attesting to his incredible resistance, the demon limped towards him, containing his wound with pressure.

  With the help of adrenaline, Soren searched for his guns– out of reach. A cruel grin spread across the creature’s face.

  “You think this is funny?” Soren shouted, coughing blood.

  And so, just when it was about to crush his skull against the wall, the demon instinctively leapt back, shielding itself. Despite lacking eyes, the angel had reacted to the object the boy held firmly on his grasp.

  It was a grenade. Unpinned. Soaked in his blood.

  Soren could only smirk at the foe’s reaction.

  “That’s how you lose.”

  The grenade didn’t explode. It was never meant to.

  In the split second he gained, Soren drew the small pistol strapped to his leg– firing a single shot straight into the demon’s face.

  A long silence lingered after the booming gunshot.

  Soren stayed slumped against the wall, breathing hard as he watched the tall, pale, muscular body crash into the ground. It did not move again.

  Summoning what strength he had left, he dragged himself upright and staggered towards the service elevator. The doors groaned shut behind him as it carried him back to the first floor.

  Outside, a sleek black car rolled to a stop. Two men in expensive tuxedos stepped out and rushed toward the bleeding boy. Without a word, they lifted him carefully and laid him in the back seat.

  One of them broke off and jogged over to the rusty white van parked nearby, getting behind the wheel. They didn't dare wait any longer.

  Both vehicles peeled away from the site, van and car speeding into the night. Faint echoes of police sirens grew louder as they approached the scene.