Page 54 of Eclipse Born

Hawk nodded once. “Everything I know.”

I didn't need to look at Sean to feel his disapproval radiating like heat. But the mission made sense. Strategic. Direct. And if it got us the information we needed about the seals, about my father's connection to all of this...

“We'll do it,” I said, before Sean could object. “Tonight.”

Night fellover Cedar Springs like a funeral shroud. We moved through the ruins of the town, weapons ready, shadows stretching long under flickering streetlights. The place felt more alive in the dark—whispers carried on still air, movement just out of sight, the press of something watching from behind broken windows and half-open doors.

I walked point, Sean three steps behind me and to the left, Hawk and two of his men flanking us at a wider distance. The rest of Hawk's team had split off, taking up positions around the church to create a perimeter. If we failed, they'd be our backup. If we died, they'd be our avengers.

The weight of my gun felt familiar in my grip, the demon-killing knife a comforting pressure against my ribs where I'd tucked it inside my jacket. I exhaled slowly, centering myself. The night air was cold enough to make my breath visible, small clouds of white vapor that dissipated in seconds.

I could feel the demons. Not just sense them in that vague way hunters develop after years on the job. I couldfeelthem, like a pressure behind my eyes, a static charge against my skin. Since coming back from Hell, my awareness of the supernatural had sharpened, become more visceral. More intimate.

“We're being watched,” I murmured, not turning my head.

Sean's footsteps didn't falter. “How many?”

“At least three. Maybe more.” I scanned the darkened storefronts ahead. “They know we're here.”

“Good,” Hawk replied from behind us, his voice barely audible. “Let them come to us first. Clear the path to the church.”

We continued forward, maintaining our formation despite the growing tension. The church loomed ahead, a Gothic silhouette against the night sky. Once white, its paint had faded to a sickly gray that seemed to absorb the moonlight. The stained glass windows that would have once depicted saints and angels were now dark voids, the colored glass long gone.

The first attack came fast—a woman lunging from a shattered doorway to my right, her mouth stretching wider than it should, revealing too many teeth in a black-gummed maw. Black veins crawled beneath her skin like spiders, eyes like oil slicks reflecting the dim streetlights.

I didn't hesitate. I fired, point-blank. The bullet hit center mass, and the body dropped like a stone. Not dead—demons couldn't be killed that easily—but stunned long enough for Sean to step forward, Latin exorcism flowing from his lips in practiced cadence.

The demon writhed, smoke pouring from the woman's mouth and nose as Sean's words forced it out. It dissipated into the night air with a shriek that made my teeth vibrate. The woman lay still, her chest rising and falling shallowly. Alive, but barely.

“One down,” Sean muttered, already turning back to the street ahead.

Then the others swarmed.

They came from all directions—figures dropping from rooftops, emerging from alleyways, shambling from behind abandoned cars. Men, women, even a teenager no older than sixteen, all with black eyes and twisted expressions. Not bothering to hide what they were anymore.

The fight became a blur of gunfire and blade, of bodies falling and demons screaming as they were forced back to Hell. I moved through it like a machine—precise, brutal, untouchable. Each motion calculated for maximum effect with minimum energy spent. I fired into kneecaps to drop them, followed with the knife or an exorcism depending on the situation.

A man in mechanic's overalls charged me, moving too fast for a human body. I sidestepped, caught his arm, and used his momentum to slam him face-first into a brick wall. Before he could recover, I pressed the knife against his throat, the blade biting deep enough to draw blood.

“Where's your leader?” I demanded, my voice unnaturally calm even to my own ears.

The demon laughed, a wet, gurgling sound. “You think I'd tell you? He'd do worse than kill me.”

“So would I,” I replied, and I realized I meant it. The thought came with no emotion attached, just a cold certainty. I pressed the knife deeper. “Last chance.”

“Go to Hell,” the demon spat. “Oh wait, you already did.”

I drove the blade in, watching the orange light flicker beneath the possessed man's skin as the demon died. Not exorcised back to Hell, but extinguished. Ended.

Around me, the fight continued. Sean was holding his own against two smaller demons, his shotgun blasting rock salt into one while he grappled with the other. Hawk and his men had formed a defensive circle, backs to each other as they fended off attacks from all sides.

I moved to help Sean, catching his attacker by the hair and yanking them backward. The knife found its mark again, another demon dying in a flash of orange light. The body crumpled, just meat now. Just empty.

It should have mattered. The bodies. The blood. The way my knuckles cracked against bone and flesh gave way beneath my blade. But I felt nothing. Not even satisfaction. Just a hollow focus, a detachment that allowed me to see each move with crystal clarity, to act without hesitation or remorse.

I shot another one between the eyes, watched them drop. Still nothing. No guilt. No anger. No fear. Just action and consequence, as mechanical as breathing.

We fought our way toward the church, the demons growing more desperate as we approached. Whatever was inside—whatever was commanding them—must have sensed the threat. The possessed townsfolk threw themselves at us with increasing frenzy, no longer trying to fight strategically but simply overwhelm us with numbers.

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