"So, you're my new plaything… let's see how long you last."
Those words imprinted into Keiran's soul. He spun around to see where they had originated from—but he knew. Or at least, he felt he knew. It was inside him. As he turned and saw no one, he quickly patted himself down, trying to find anything unnatural. He noticed nothing strange around or on him, except the decapitated head and the headless body in a pool of its own blood—and a mop soaked red.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall anything from his mind, but
nothing unusual in him. With that, he made his way to the restroom.
Face to face with the bathroom mirror, and the flickering light above him and the smell of literal shit in the air, he brought down his head to splash cold water on his face. As he raised it back up—he saw his reflection.
Leaning against the sink.
Staring at him.
With a deranged smile.
Immediately, Keiran registered what he was seeing and jumped back—his face pale like a man who'd seen a ghost—as he kept his eyes fixed on the figure in the mirror, which did nothing but stare.
"What the hell did I smoke today?" Keiran spiraled, his mind trying to piece together any reasonable solution for what was happening to him before he steadied himself, trying to act like he had any control over what was happening whatsoever.
Ohhhh… Haaaa…
A deep breath escaped his lips as he grounded himself and turned to the figure in the mirror.
"Who are you?" he asked.
It yawned—like Keiran was genuinely boring him.
"You know exactly what I am, Princess," it said, as the smile grew longer and longer—almost across its cheeks.
"That's not possible. I'm not thirteen anymore," Keiran replied, panic thick in his voice, the tone climbing higher and higher.
"That doesn't matter with me."
****
Ten years ago, In the year 2030—also known as the beginning of human divinity—was the year demons, monsters, angels, and gods emerged among us. No warnings. No premonitions. No countdown.
The first ever instance was the possession of a ten-year-old girl by a low-level demon. It raged for weeks, destroying everything and anything in its path with no military equipment powerful enough to stop it, only one clear goal—the death of humans—before it was finally stopped by the new gods. They killed the child as she begged for her life on national television, which raised the question of whether gods were really on our side.
While gods and demons emerged out of nowhere, angels, on the other hand, are given their power when a god is about to die and passes on their divinity. All the angels eventually banded together to form the IDC (International Divinity Corporation)—an organization responsible for all matters involving divinities or the supernatural. And they now rule over everything.
While gods believe in instant death for all demons and the demonic, their angelic successors however believe in saving lives—a funny and manipulative way of saying that when a demon possesses a child, it's the IDC's job to either:
1. Save the child, which entails casting out the demon;
2. Destroy the demonic, which entails killing both demon and child; or
3. If the bond is too far gone but the child's spirit still holds control—train and recruit them into the IDC.
After the realization of the limit of demonic possessions, the conclusion was made that kids could power through and gain control of the demon and its divinity, depending on the overall strength of the child and the divine level of the demon.
The reason demons could only possess children from thirteen wasn't because of the age—but because of the onset of puberty. So now, every child from age ten to thirteen is required to undergo a mandatory divinity check, to ensure possession wasn't right around the corner.
The IDC rules over all the Earth, as every country, continent, and city needs their help when there's a demon on the loose.
******
Keiran ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself as he looked away from the figure in the mirror.
I can't be possessed, he kept whispering to himself, as his thoughts raged on and on.
During all this internal carnage, the corner of his ear caught something.
The doors flew open.
It was Derek.
He already knew Keiran was serving detention, and from the footfalls echoing through the halls, he was pissed.
"Keiran! Bring your scrawny ass out here so I can kill you!" he screamed.
As Keiran heard Derek's voice, relief escaped his lips. He bolted out the restroom door.
Immediately, he and Derek locked eyes.
Then it registered.
He had just slept with Derek's girlfriend—and Derek was probably here to beat him up.
Looking like a fourth-year twelfth grader, Derek was more or less an athlete on steroids—too dumb to graduate—and his face was piercing hot, looking for an ass to kick.
Keiran didn't care right now.
He had a demon inside him. And he was losing his mind.
He ran to Derek, constantly looking over his shoulder—the feeling of being watched lingering like a cloak around him.
As he finally reached talking distance, he started his nonsensical rant again.
"There's a demon in me! It killed the janitor!"
But Derek kept walking toward him like a heat-seeking missile—too dumb to register Keiran's words.
BAM!
Derek's fist slammed against Keiran's forehead. For an instant, they merged before Keiran's skull crashed against the lockers and he hit the ground.
Normally, he'd take the beating if he deserved it—but right now, there were far more crucial matters at hand.
He got on all fours, crawling, pain blooming in the corner of his head like never before. His vision swarmed. Sweat dripped from every pore. And a look crawled onto his face that just said I want to puke.
Derek's foot pelted him in the gut, and he fell, clenching his stomach.
Then came the stomping. Over. And over. Again.
Until Keiran was nothing more than a ball of meat on the floor.
Derek grabbed him by the shirt, pulling up his barely conscious body.
"This is for my girl," he hissed, delivering the final, heaviest punch—one that bounced Keiran's head against the tiled floor.
Then Derek turned around, straightened his letterman jacket, and walked away slowly—for dramatic effect, no one really knows.
Just as he made some distance—
CRACK.
The sound echoed through the halls. Somehow, even Derek's pea-sized brain registered it.
There's no way he's back up from that, Derek thought, turning to see—
Keiran.
On his feet.
Fists clenched.
Blood dripping from the side of his skull, hidden beneath his hair.
His breathing—steady. Too steady.
And a sick, crazy smile plastered on his face.
He spit on the floor and said:
"Oh my… gonna love gutting you alive."