The backyard smelled of charcoal and cheap vanilla frosting.
Kazimir leaned against the splintered fence, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, watching his mom, Marissa, light the eighteen candles on a lopsided sheet cake. Isaac—twelve going on thirty—flicked lighter fluid onto the grill for dramatic effect, earning a sharp “Isaac, stop that!” from Marissa. Four-year-old Astra chased soap bubbles Dad had blown earlier, squealing every time one popped against her nose.
Kazimir exhaled. Eighteen. College apps. Freedom.
He didn’t notice the air thicken, the way the cicadas suddenly hushed.
A wet rip split the evening—like tarp tearing in half.
The fence exploded inward. Splinters peppered the lawn.
The demon stepped through.
Eight feet tall, skin like melted tire rubber, mouth split to its ears. Eyes the color of brake lights. It didn’t roar. It smiled.
Marissa dropped the cake. Frosting splattered her sandals.
Isaac screamed, “Mom, run!”
Astra froze mid-bubble, thumb in mouth.
The demon lunged.
Kazimir’s brain short-circuited.
Move. MOVE.
Electricity erupted from his face.
Not clean lightning—raw, blue-white threads that smelled of ozone and pennies. They forked from his eyes, his mouth, slammed center-mass into the demon.
The creature convulsed. Flesh sizzled, blackened, collapsed into a heap of ash and bone on the patio bricks.
Kazimir tasted copper.
His knees hit frosting.
Blackout.
He woke on the living-room couch, fluorescent kitchen light buzzing overhead.
Mom washed soot from Isaac’s arms with a dish towel. Dad—Jacob—paced, muttering “not now, not today” like a broken record.
Astra patted Kazimir’s cheek. “You made fireworks.”
Isaac whispered, “Dude, your eyes were lasers.”
Kazimir tried to sit up. The room spun.
Dad barked, “We’re gone in five. Camping gear. Now.”
Marissa kept folding the same T-shirt. Over and over. “Jacob, we call the cops—”
“Cops are them.”
Garage.
North Face packs, freeze-dried beans, the tent with the broken zipper.
Marissa’s hands shook as she stuffed Astra’s stuffed rabbit into a duffel.
Kazimir’s legs felt like wet cement.
Isaac scrolled his phone—family camping lol—thumbs flying.
Jacob saw the glow.
He lunged between the seats, ripped the phone from Isaac’s hand.
CRACK.
Screen spider-webbed. Jacob crushed it in his fist like aluminum foil, hurled it out the window. It thudded into the pines.
Isaac stared at his empty hand. “I was just—”
“They triangulate pings,” Jacob growled. “We are dark now.”
Marissa snapped.
“What the hell was that? He’s twelve, Jacob! That phone cost us a month’s data and you—” She grabbed Isaac’s wrist; red rings already bloomed. “—you’re bruising him?”
Jacob’s knuckles drummed the wheel. “I care about him breathing tomorrow.”
“You care?” Marissa laughed—sharp, ugly. “You care so much you hid a whole life? You care so much you let him text while they’re two days from our porch?”
Isaac mumbled, “It’s not like I said Dad’s a war criminal.”
Silence. Five seconds.
Marissa turned. “Listen. You—” she jabbed Jacob, “—don’t get to play hero. You explain. Every dig, every grant, every goodnight kiss—was that fake?”
Jacob swallowed. “I kissed you because you’re the only real thing I’ve touched since 1989.”
The engine hummed. Trees closed in—darker greens, thicker trunks.
“Then prove it,” Marissa said. “First campsite. Full truth. No more half.”
Headlights off the last mile.
Kids in back. Isaac rubbed his wrist. Kazimir counted stars like he’d run out.
Astra slept on his lap, thumb in mouth.
Her tiny fist glowed—soft gold, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kazimir squinted. “Dad… Astra’s glowing.”
Jacob glanced in the mirror. Jaw tight. “That’s the bloom. Happens when she’s calm. And scared. And dreaming.”
Marissa reached. Jacob snapped, “Don’t touch. It’s not hot—just bright. Wake her, it’ll flare.”
Isaac leaned in. “Like a nightlight?”
“Like a lighthouse,” Jacob said. “Demons navigate by that. So do satellites.”
The glow faded. Just a flicker.
Marissa whispered, “We’re driving into the woods with a living flare.”
Jacob: “Compound’s warded. Old ley lines. It’ll mask her. Trust me.”
Kazimir stared at his sister—four years old, made of hope—and thought: We’re the bait.
Campsite.
Fire crackled. Jacob’s voice low.
“I’m not an archaeologist. I’m a witch.
Used to wipe memories for black-budget psychics.
Senator Hayes’ kid—twelve—walked in on a rite. Floating runes, blood sigils.
I erased it. Erased him. He forgot how to breathe.”
Marissa’s face went white.
Isaac: “You killed someone?”
Kazimir stood. “You coward!”
The word boomed.
Tent flaps whipped like hurricane. Light flared—angelic, golden. Jacob flinched, then straightened. Eyes sharp.
Marissa pointed. “You just used magic. We have to stop this.”
Kazimir: “How do I hide for the rest of my life? Pretend I’m not a walking bomb?”
Jacob rolled up his sleeve. Belt knife flashed. “There’s a dampener. Blood anchor. Thirty days, no powers.”
He sliced his palm. Blood dripped on Kazimir’s chest. Latin chant. Air tasted like iron.
Click.
The vault locked.
Marissa rifled Jacob’s coat. Found the USB.
Plugged it into her phone.
PROJECT GENESIS
Subject K (Kazimir): Viable progenitor. Void-flux interfacing.
Subject I (Isaac): Technomantic aptitude. Hive potential.
Subject A (Astra): Empathic dampening. Interrogation asset.
Recommend extraction. Gestation acceleration. Clone viable bodies. Insert pre-programmed soldier-souls.
She dropped it. It hit Isaac’s sneaker.
“They’re farming us.”
Jacob: “I didn’t know they’d go Frankenstein.”
Marissa: “Every hospital visit, every shot—you let them sample us?”
Kazimir lunged. Fist crackled—muffled, like punching water.
Jacob blocked. The dampener held.
Kazimir stumbled. “What—”
Jacob grabbed his wrist. “It’s caged. Don’t feed it.”
Later.
A squirrel fell from the roof. Neck snapped.
Astra toddled over, hugged it.
The clearing flared white-hot.
Squirrel revived. Pranced away.
Every demon, tracker, satellite within twenty miles pinged: Target acquired: living saint.
Kazimir went pale. “She’s worse than me.”
Marissa finally believed. “We’re not hiding. We’re raising gods in the woods.”
Dawn.
Two days ahead of the trackers.
Three kids who could end the world.
Marissa’s hands on their heads.
Isaac whispering, “What if I can hack satellites?”
Mom: “Then we’re ghosts.”
Dad: “Ghosts don’t need parents.”76Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0GkiGGQp2u
and then Add to home screen.