The gray glow of dawn crept into the hotel room through the curtainless window, casting faint shadows across Daytona's face. The digital clock beside the bed read 6:21 AM, but she had been awake for minutes, trapped between the memory of the dream and the dull pain in her forearm. She stepped onto the cold floor, limping slightly, and walked to the bathroom mirror.
Her forearm, once broken, now looked perfect — not a scratch. Daytona placed her hand on her wrist, pressing the skin: no wound, no scar, just that strange feeling of "something weird happened."
She dried her face, took a deep breath, looked up, and whispered to herself:
— It was real, wasn't it?
A damp silence answered as she returned to the bedroom. Martin was still asleep, wrapped in the blankets, murmuring something indecipherable. Daytona sat at the edge of the bed, not daring to wake him.
Minutes dragged on until Martin's soft snoring stopped. He opened his eyes, blinked, and saw Daytona leaning against the doorframe.
— Good night? — he mumbled, confused.
— Good morning — she corrected. — Sorry to wake you, but I think… — Daytona gestured to her intact arm — something happened to me last night.
Martin sat up, frowning.
— You had a bad dream?
— Worse. I woke up inside a circle of candles, a demon talked to me, said my destiny had changed… — The words came out in a rush.
Martin swallowed hard.
— I saw you talking to yourself at school. Thought you were just tired.
Daytona ran her hand over her face.
— Because I was talking to myself. About things… I shouldn't even understand yet. But my arm… healed. It doesn't make sense.
He got up, grabbed his jacket, and handed it to her.
— Let's get out of here. We need to leave before something worse shows up.
In the nearly empty hotel lobby, Daytona and Martin dragged their suitcases to the front desk. The flickering fluorescent lights pulsed in sync with the wall clock, which read 6:45 AM.
— Just one night, please — Martin said, handing over his credit card.
— Alright — the tired clerk replied. — That'll be 40 coins.
Martin paid, picked up the bags, and led Daytona to the parking lot.
Outside, the night air still lingered, as if reluctant to say goodbye. Wisps of fog swirled across the asphalt, revealing only a side road flanked by pine trees. No cars in sight, no sign of life beyond the dense trees.
— Now what? — Daytona asked, looking at Martin.
— We catch a cab to the main highway — he suggested. — From there, we hitch a ride or take a bus back to Los Angeles.
At first, Daytona hesitated. She still felt the weight of Belzebub's presence in her mind — a dark residue clinging to her thoughts. But urgency won; she nodded.
Fifteen minutes later, they were riding in a yellowed taxi, bouncing over cracked pavement toward the federal highway. Outside the window, the scenery flowed in green and shadows, the fog slipping in and out of the car's headlights.
— Tell me something — Martin began, his voice nearly drowned by the engine — do you trust me?
Daytona turned her gaze to the glass.
— I do.
— Then tell me everything about the accident — the parts you haven't yet.
She closed her eyes, lashes trembling. The memories returned vividly: the metal crash, flying through the windshield, the circle of candles, the goat skull.
— It was all planned — she murmured. — That circle, the demon… Belzebub said he chose me to stop the end of the world.
The driver honked softly at a sign ahead: BR-101 – Los Angeles 350 km. Martin straightened in his seat.
— Then there's no going back — he said. — Let's go home, Daytona.
On the highway, the sun began to break through the clouds, casting everything in pale gold. They got off at a bus stop and waited for the coach that would take them to downtown Los Angeles. As they waited, Daytona felt her phone buzz: a message from Huracán, already back in town.
"I'm here, but your friend said you left early. Where are you?"
She replied:
"At the 101 stop. We'll be there in 10."
Martin grabbed his backpack and offered a nervous smile.
— We'll go together… and you tell Huracán everything when we meet him.
— Yeah — Daytona agreed, tightening the strap on her bag. — It's better if he hears it from me.
The bus appeared, scraping the ground with a metallic groan. They climbed aboard and took seats by the window, watching the road pass by.
By the time they reached Los Angeles, the high sun already burned the skin, and traffic pulsed with a frenetic rhythm. Daytona and Martin got off at the central station, where Huracán was supposed to be waiting next to his parked Ferrari — but the car sat empty, no sign of their friend.
— He said he met me here — Daytona murmured, looking around. — But… I don't see anyone.
Martin reached into his coat pocket and found the folded note Ghost had left in the pale-blue car:
"I do not control the rules of this world. Find me where the flesh shines brightest."
Daytona swallowed hard.
— That's not… normal.
Huracán appeared from between the concrete columns, wearing a black mask. His smile was brief, almost shadowed.
— Welcome back — he said. — Come to my place. There you'll understand what "shining flesh" means.
Daytona looked at Martin, who closed his eyes and sighed.
— Looks like the trip is just beginning.
And for a moment, her blood pounded like a drum in her veins, reminding her that nothing would be normal again.
The sound of the electric gate opening dragged like a metallic roar. Huracán's house — modern, perched high on a Los Angeles hill — seemed even quieter than Daytona remembered. Wide windows, polished floors reflecting the sunset light, and the faint scent of burning incense in the air.
— He really lives here? — Martin whispered, eyeing the marble staircase.
— He's weird, but he's trustworthy — Daytona replied, though her words didn't sound as certain as she hoped.
Huracán walked ahead in silence, leading them to the main room.
— You can sit — he said, gesturing toward the couch. — Ghost left three days ago. Not many clues… just that message.
Daytona sat down, but before she could speak, a light pressure spread across her neck. A muffled sound, like wind underwater, echoed in her head.
"You're home again, little Daytona."
She froze. Martin noticed her distant stare.
— You okay?
— He's here — Daytona whispered. — Belzebub. In my mind.
Huracán watched her with interest, eyes narrowed.
— He manifested again?
"Calm down. I didn't come to hurt you. If I wanted to, I'd have done it yesterday."
"I'm your… partner. As much as a demon can be, anyway."
— What do you want from me? — Daytona murmured, ignoring the stares around her.
"I want you to survive. And not go mad in the process. These voices you'll hear, these urges you'll feel… they'll break you if you don't understand who you are now."
— Is he… trying to help me? — Daytona asked, still scared.
Huracán pulled a dark folder from a drawer.
— This explains a lot. — He threw grainy photos onto the table: deformed creatures, made of twisted flesh and human eyes on their backs. — These were captured near the Arizona border last week. They call them "Aberrants." They appear where there's spiritual imbalance.
Martin paled.
— This is real?
Daytona stared at one of the photos — a grotesque figure with multiple limbs and teeth in its hands. Suddenly, her heart pounded, and Belzebub spoke again.
"You could destroy that easily. But you need practice. You need to accept… you're not like the others anymore."
She stood up, stepping back from the table.
— I want to understand. I don't want to run from this.
Huracán gave a slight smile.
— Then you'll need to learn how to use what's inside you.
Martin still looked skeptical.
— And if she loses control?
Huracán looked at him calmly.
— Then we help her. Or we kill her.
The silence that followed was thick. Daytona said nothing. In her mind, Belzebub murmured:
"He's not lying. But neither am I. I won't let you die easily. I won't let you fade like the others."
She inhaled deeply.
— What do I do now?
Huracán stood.
— Let's go to the basement. I prepared something. It won't be pretty, but you'll understand who you are.
The basement was wide, the walls thick and covered in ancient symbols. In the center, a creature was restrained — a man in raw flesh, his skin removed, eyes black as coal.
— He was human before possession — Huracán explained. — Now he's just conscious meat. He doesn't feel pain, doesn't speak, but attacks anyone who comes close.
Daytona felt her stomach churn.
— What do you want me to do?
— Touch him. If Belzebub is truly in you, he'll react.
She hesitated.
"Go, Daytona. Trust me. Your touch… it's not the same anymore."
With a trembling step, she reached out. Her fingers touched the pulsating flesh — and the creature screamed. Not with its mouth, but with its body. A spasm ran through it like a surge of dark energy. Daytona felt heat rise through her arm, her blood vibrating, and then…
The creature's flesh began to unravel. Not melt — disassemble. As if every cell was being pulled into her, like threads tugged by invisible hooks.
Martin stepped back.
— This is… impossible.
The creature completely dissolved. Only Daytona remained, her eyes now red, breathing heavily. A black glow seeped from her skin like steam.
Belzebub whispered:
"You've just consumed your first enemy. I can turn that into strength."
"But remember: more power means more hunger."
Huracán approached, astonished.
— You're a conduit. The fusion is in its early stage. Maybe… maybe you can fight the creatures.
Martin looked at Daytona with fear and awe.
— What has she become?
— A bridge between worlds — Huracán murmured. — Living flesh… between heaven and hell.
Daytona simply closed her eyes. Inside, she felt the echo of the creature she consumed. She felt the warmth of power rising. She felt Belzebub… not as an enemy, but as part of her.
"Welcome to your true form, Daytona."