Hey everyone,
Before you dive in, just a quick word. This chapter shifts the spiritual weight. We're entering the realm of those who don't just oppose divine power... they mirror it. It's unsettling, it's personal, and it changes the game for Max and Seth.
The concept of the Mirror Apostle has been quietly threading its way into earlier scenes, and now, the reflection sharpens.
So buckle in. Breathe. And maybe leave a light on.
See you on the other side.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
With the little strength I have left, I summon the portal to the old house. The guys were expecting us.
I step through first, glyphs spiraling, refusing to simmer down. They hum across my skin, unruly and defiant. It does not drain me physically, but mentally? Yeah... no. Definitely not getting a free pass there.
Note to self: The Living Scripture and I are going to have a very serious conversation later about why it suddenly thinks it gets to have an opinion.
Jamey's wide-eyed expression greets me on the other side, and one glance at the hallway mirror confirms it. Yep, we look like chaos wrapped in holy authority. My hair is an absolute mess, wild but still holding that divine glow. Exhaustion, however, is not even pretending to hide. It is written all over my face.
Seth follows, silent and terrifyingly regal. The breath forms like a chariot behind him, tendrils of silver curling like living silk. His silver breath flows with eerie, weightless grace, carrying Samuel and Campbell as though they weigh nothing. And as if that was not enough of a statement, he is hauling the enemy by the scruff of his shirt like a misbehaving toddler. One-handed. Effortless.
My eyes scan the group. "Where is Gabriel? Did he..."
The doorbell rings. Right on cue.
Gabriel steps inside with the medic. The medic barely spares anyone a glance before rushing straight to Samuel and Campbell, who are still suspended in Seth's breath until he gently lowers them onto the couch.
I do not miss Eric. His body shifts like he wants to step toward me, concern writ all over his face. But Seth does not even speak. His gaze alone stops Eric mid-step. Not hostile. Not aggressive. Just... "No. Not you. Not anymore."
Angela, yeah, that is her name, steps back fast. Her eyes flick between me and Seth. I cannot tell if it is fear, intimidation, or envy clawing at her throat... but whatever it is, it is loud. Real loud.
Not my problem. Not today.
I fish my phone from my pocket and dial the boring Gabriel. The Judicar one, strictly business, zero personality. "Gabriel... hi. Meet us at the old house. Now, please."
"Thirty minutes." Click.
Charming as ever.
I shoot off a second call to Lady Elsa. Same message. Same request. Same urgency.
The lounge smells like strong coffee and antiseptic. The medic mutters to himself while working over Samuel and Campbell, hands moving fast but precise.
Someone shoves a mug of coffee into my hands. The warmth seeps into my skin, but it feels like pouring water over fire. Barely enough. A plate of snacks lands on the table, but my stomach knots too tightly to care.
Gabriel arrives first, another man trailing behind him with clipped steps and sharp eyes. Ten minutes later, Lady Elsa steps in, brushing wind from her shoulders like she walked through a storm no one else felt.
"With two of our strongest warriors down, the rest of us need to step up." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
The words have barely left my mouth when the tension spikes. My knee bounces. Fingers tap against the mug. And when my gaze drifts to Eric, the air feels heavier.
"You have a son. A wife. We cannot risk taking you with us on this one."
A groan ripples through the room like furniture shifting. Jamey tips his head back toward the ceiling like he is waiting for lightning to strike. Alec lets out a sharp exhale through his nose. Even Lady Elsa's jaw ticks.
Eric does not move. Not a blink. His gaze pins me, steady, unreadable. There is no fight in it. No argument. Just something heavier. Something final.
I hold the stare a heartbeat longer than is polite before shifting to Alec, then Jamey. Familiar ground. Less complicated. "We will need both of you."
Jamey's grin blooms like it has no business existing in this kind of tension. He leans forward, elbows digging into his knees. "I get to fight with our power couple and..."
A sharp smack echoes as Alec swats the back of his head. "Not the time." His eyes flick between me and Seth. "You both look like you need about ten hours of sleep or a resurrection."
My lips twitch. Barely. "Yeah, well. The plan is simple. Find their lair. Wipe them out."
Seth's hand finds mine, where it sits on his knee, fingers sliding between mine like a lock clicking shut. His grip is steady. Warm. But there is nothing soft in his voice. "I agree. No smart moves. No drawn-out plans. We go in hot."
Silver breath stirs around his shoulders, curling tighter. His thumb brushes my knuckle, grounding and electric at once. "And we do what we do best... undo their making."
The house felt... quieter now. The medic had left, satisfied that both Samuel and Campbell were stable enough to recover on their own. Not perfect. Not pretty. But breathing. That was enough.
Gabriel lingered, perched near the window with the kind of stillness that only came from years of expecting things to go sideways. His arms folded. One hand drummed absently against his elbow, scanning the street like trouble might grow legs and walk straight up to the front door.
Samuel and Campbell were set up in the spare room. Both lay out, breathing shallow but steady. Samuel's skin was still pale beneath the fading pulse of bruises. Campbell hadn't stirred since the medic patched his shoulder, but his vitals held. Seth's silver breath lingered around them, thin threads laced across the room like invisible scaffolding reinforcement. A safety net.
Or so we thought.
I paced the living room, fingers absently tracing the glyph burned into the doorframe, checking and double-checking every line. My sigils were steady. No tremors. No disruptions. Seth had walked the perimeter twice already, reinforcing the seals with his breath, layering them over mine until the air itself felt heavy with it.
This house was locked. Fortified. Safe.
Or it should have been.
The footsteps hit first. Fast. Sharp. Unmistakably human.
Then the maid. Pale. Breathless. Practically sliding into the room.
"Miss..." Her voice cracked. "You... you need to come. Now."
My spine straightened. "What?"
"The boys..." Her hands trembled, fingers clenching the sides of her apron like she could wring the panic out of it. "They're... they're gone."
Gabriel shot to his feet so fast his chair scraped backward. "Gone how?"
"I just... I just went in to check on the linens. I swear, they were asleep. I stepped out, just for a moment. When I came back..." Her voice fractured. "They weren't there. They're... just... not."
Seth's breath snapped taut. His eyes sharpened like a blade being drawn. "No. No. That's not possible." His hands lifted, silver threads spiking out of his palms, streaking toward the hallway like living needles. "No breach. No trigger. No damn warning."
My heart slammed into my ribs. I spun, sprinting down the hall, boots hitting hardwood like gunshots.
The door to the spare room stood wide open. No signs of struggle. No broken seals. My sigils still glowed in lazy, perfect lines across the frame, untouched. Unbothered.
The beds were empty.
Samuel... gone.
Campbell... gone.
Nothing.
Gabriel cursed under his breath, storming in behind me. "How the hell...?"
Alec's voice echoed from the hallway, clipped and loud. "Max, Seth... what just happened?"
Neither of us spoke. Not at first. Not when the reality hit.
Seth's silver threads whipped through the room like snapping wires, sharp and frantic. They sliced through the air, split between clawing at the seams of reality and grasping at something that wasn't there. His jaw locked. His breath hissed through his teeth. The silver mist flared brighter, trembling like something on the verge of breaking.
His voice dropped, low, sharp, hollow. "This wasn't a breach."
His breath pulsed harder, threads lashing the walls, the floors, even the sigils that should have warned us. "This was precision. A bypass. Someone didn't break in... someone walked straight through."
The weight of it hit. Heavy and suffocating. A thought neither of us dared speak but both felt like a fist to the ribs. Is there someone out there more powerful than us?
But even that horror drowned beneath the louder, sharper truth.
Where are our boys?
The Living Scripture answered before I could even form the question. Not with comfort. Not with clarity. No. It tore from me like something alive, something furious, something betrayed by its own failure. It exhaled from my skin with the force of a beast unshackled, surging outward like a dragon crashing through the earth, except it didn't shatter walls. It passed through them. Slipped between matter. Between atoms. Searching. Hunting.
It roared. Not aloud, but in every line of my body. A pulse through marrow. Through memory. Through soul. Searching for Samuel. For Campbell. For answers. For something, anything, that would undo this.
Seth's silver breath surged in response, as if the tremor of the Scripture's pain tore a matching sound from his own soul. His breath oozed from him in thick coils, not steady ribbons but ragged streams of silver, spilling into the house, into the walls, into the space between spaces. His threads tangled with the Scripture's gold, the two weaving like panicked hands clawing through dark water. Both searching. Both were screaming without sound.
The house shook. Not physically, but in the way spirit does when something too big is pressing against the seams of reality.
The roar inside me grew too loud. Too sharp. Too wild. My knees buckled. One hand slapped over my heart, the other over my temple, forcing pressure where no pressure could help. My breath hitched, too fast, too thin.
Seth caught me before gravity could finish what panic started. His arms locked around me, tight, grounding, and steady. Not a word. Not a sound. Just his presence. Just the anchoring crush of him holding me together as the Living Scripture fought itself to burn away the failure.
It took seconds. Or years. Or something in between.
But slowly... slowly... the Scripture's roar softened. Not gone. Not quiet. Just caged for now. The Living Scripture stirred under my skin. Lines of gold flickered, but not in warning. No, this was confusion. Frustration. Like it didn't know whether it had failed... or been deceived.
A sick chill slid down my spine. "Anderson," I muttered. "It's him." My hands trembled, the glyphs along my wrists pulsing harder, flaring into view. "He's not supposed to be able to do this."
Seth's gaze darkened, silver breath curling tighter around his shoulders. "He's not working alone. He can't be."
"Doesn't matter," I said, voice dropping razor sharp. "We end this. Morning. First light. I don't care what's in the way."
Lady Elsa steps forward, "You two are too emotional right now. What we need first is too understand how they bypassed your Flame and Breath."
Samantha walks in with her phone clutched firmly in her hands, "I might know something about that..." She extends her phone to Seth and me "... the inversion-based decree can use divine mimicry."
Seth takes the phone from her, "You found this in the book I gave you at the Labryrinth of Books, the book on Shadow Concepts?"
"Yes, I remember seeing a black glyph that resembled the Hanged Man tarot card. I found it fascinating as it was black, made me think of the hanged man and Max's golden glyphs."
Samantha scratches her head, still staring at the phone. "What I find puzzling though is reading that there are only a few glyphs like it and it can't just be used by anyone. It's not just rare but it's exclusive. It's said that it can only be wielded by a... certain kind of person."
Alec places a hand on her shoulder, fear rising behind his voice. "Like who?"
Seth doesn't answer immediately. His gaze locks on the phone. The silver breath coils up his arms like it's bracing for impact. He doesn't blink.
When he speaks, it's soft. Almost reverent. And laced with dread.
"The text called them Mirror Apostles. Not dark mages. Not possessed. Not cursed. They don't defy Heaven. They reflect it. That's why we didn't sense them. Because to the Breath and the Scripture... they looked like us."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Although we were offered a place to stay, my soul voted no before my mouth could even respond. The idea of sleeping under Eric's roof felt like wearing shoes two sizes too small, possible, but wildly uncomfortable.
With the last ounce of strength I had left, I summoned a portal and dragged us home. A luxurious bath with Seth was the first order of business. Steam, warm skin, and the scent of lavender tangled between us. Somewhere between soaking and not caring about the outside world, a bottle of red wine made an appearance. Paired with a bowl of nuts and an embarrassing amount of kisses, it was dangerously close to perfection.
Eventually, tangled under the sheets with him, limbs wrapped like we were both afraid the other might vanish, I exhaled. "I am so glad to be home... and so, so relieved to be lying here in your arms."
I tilted my chin just enough to plant a kiss under his jaw. His grip tightened like a reflex, pulling me in as though he could anchor me there forever.
"I concur, my fair lady," he murmured against my temple, voice dipped in lazy warmth. "This is what I want most in life. The woman I love. Good food. Excellent wine. And nothing but peace... peace... peace."
He punctuated each peace with a kiss. First to my forehead. Then my cheek. Then the tip of my nose.
"Now sleep," he whispered, the silver breath already curling lazily around us like a protective veil. "We leave at first light. Anderson's hideout awaits."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sunlight spilled across cracked pavement like a memory trying to linger. A little girl in chipped pink shoes skipped across the road, her laughter far too loud for a city this broken. Cars honked. Pigeons scattered. A street preacher raved about hellfire from one corner while teenagers filmed dance challenges on another, dancing over sidewalks still stained with old blood.
This was a world stitched together by despair and denial. A world that had long forgotten Heaven was still watching.
Her father stood outside a store with shattered windows, its inside swallowed by shadow and surviving only on what sunlight could scrape in. His clothes hung from him like forgotten promises. One hand clutched a battered metal bowl. The other reached toward strangers in silent hope.
"Candice, behave," he muttered.
But Candice didn't hear him. Or chose not to. She kept skipping, arms stretched wide like wings, humming like her joy could drown out the city's ache.
Even in a place that devoured faith and mercy, she remained untouched. Still a child. Still light.
She stopped fast when we passed. Her small hand grabbed her father's sleeve, tugging twice. Her voice came low, but certain.
"Papa... that's the lady from my dream. And... and the man."
Her tiny finger pointed. Her father yanked it down quickly, eyes scanning the street.
"Don't point, Candice," he hissed. "No. Don't."
We paused. I pulled a folded note from my pocket and dropped it into his bowl. His head dipped. Not in shame. In reverence.
"Thank you," he whispered. His eyes said what his mouth didn't. You've kept my family breathing one more day.
We moved on.
Tiny footsteps scraped behind us. Candice. She grabbed the edge of my coat, tugging hard, breathing quickly like she had sprinted the whole way. Her eyes shone, bright like candlelight against all this ruin.
"Place you lookin' for... it that way," she said, jabbing a smudge-marked finger toward the east. "They say... you find the church. No bell."
Her head jerked side to side so fast her oily ponytails slapped her cheeks. "No bell." Alec stiffened beside me. His voice dropped, sharp. "Who's... they?"
Candice just grinned, small gapped teeth flashing. Then spun around and skipped back to her father like nothing had happened.
None of us said a word. We turned east.
A young man with one leg sat ahead on a plastic crate, playing a broken violin with two strings. The tune scraped the air. Raw. Off-key. Honest. A small sign leaned against his crate.
For those who lost their song.
Jamey slowed. His brows pulled tight, lips pressed thin like a memory was trying to push through but refused to land. He edged closer, staring at the violinist.
"That song..." His voice was softer now. "It... feels familiar. Like... from when I was little. But... I don't know..."
He shifted, muttering, "... Maybe... the Sepulcher of Echoes swallowed that one."
Alec tossed the violinist a few coins. The tune did not change.
Seth did not drop coins. He breathed. A soft curl of silver slipped from his lips, winding around the boy like a thread of light. The violin's tone shifted. Subtle. Fuller. Warmer. The man smiled, never knowing why.
I slipped my arm through Seth's. Pulled close. "That right there... is one of the reasons I love you."
His lips brushed my forehead. No words. Didn't need them.
The buildings hunched around us, wearing grime like a second skin. Maybe it was the dirt. Maybe it was the heavy pull of unseen eyes. Either way, it pressed in.
We kept moving.
A small group stood in a park around a lone casket. A young priest read scripture into the wind. No flowers. No music. No crowd. Just a family. And silence.
I stopped. Watched.
Seth murmured, "No angels sang today. But He still receives the soul."
For a breath... the city held still.
Then we moved.
I turned back just in time to catch Jamey staring at a boy spinning in circles near a cracked fountain. The kid wore a superhero mask made from old cloth, stitched together by someone's trembling hands and stubborn hope.
Jamey walked straight into Alec's back.
"Ow... hey." He clutched his nose. "You nearly broke my face."
Alec didn't even blink. "Says the idiot who walked into me."
I laughed. "Jamey, seriously. What's with the staring?"
Jamey kept watching the boy, his voice softer than I expected.
"Just... thinking. How's a kid still that happy... in a place like this?"
That hit me.
I glanced at the boy, still spinning like joy had no weight.
"Because this..." I swept a hand at the broken skyline, the flickering lights, the cracked pavement stitched with weeds. "This is all they've ever known."
I turned, walking backwards. "Guys... this is not a field trip. Let's move."
Jamey blinked out of it, shoulders squaring, focus slotting back in.
As we walked, the chapel came into view. Its crooked steeple leaned like it was bowing under the weight of its own ruin. The bell was long gone. But a soft, stubborn light still glowed from the tower.
"Used to be the heart of this place," Jamey murmured.
"Now it's just a landmark people know not to get close to," Alec muttered.
Seth's voice came softer. Reverent. "Even ruins remember the presence of God."
I was less concerned with spiritual memories and more with how to get from here to the Forgotten Quarter.
That was when I noticed the shift.
Cars still passed... but slower now. Windows turned away. No music. No shouting. No laughter. The city didn't stop, but it... withdrew. Like something holding its breath.
The moment our feet crossed onto the edge of the chapel lot, the temperature dipped.
Not cold like winter.
Cold like grief.
My Scripture stirred against my skin, twitching. The glyphs unreadable. Unwilling.
Seth's fingers brushed my wrist. His voice was barely more than breath. "The boundary's thin here. We move carefully."
"There," he said, nodding toward a spot where sunlight refused to fall.
Beneath an arch of broken stone, a black passage yawned open. It breathed in the dirt like a sleeping lung.
Seth froze. His posture went rigid, gaze fixed ahead. "Anderson knows we're here."
His breath hitched. A second passed. Maybe two. "He has a small army with him."
Another pause. His head tilted. Listening to something we couldn't hear. "Left," he said finally. "We go left."
Jamey whispered out the side of his mouth, "How the hell does he do that?"
Alec shrugged, eyes forward. "No clue. Not asking."
The Forgotten Quarter wasn't somewhere you stumbled into. It was a wound beneath the city. Hidden. Sealed. Forgotten by choice.
What we saw now was only its shell. Crumbling stone paths stitched with weeds. Fractured pillars half-swallowed by ash. A rusted iron gate leaning sideways, sunk deep into the earth.
But the true entrance lay below.
A collapsed stairwell sat nearby. The dirt was freshly disturbed, drag marks, boot prints, and something... something that looked too big to be human.
The shadows were heavier here. Thicker. Not just absence of light... but presence of something else. They curled around broken stone like starving vines.
Whatever waited down there wasn't just hidden.
It was watching us.
"The Forgotten Quarter," Seth whispered.
"Anderson's sanctum," Jamey corrected, barely audible.
I stepped forward.
The air tightened, pulling against my skin. My breath came out in pale streams. The world dimmed, like someone was turning the dial down on reality.
We didn't just descend.
We crossed over.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Afterthoughts
Still breathing?
This chapter left me unsettled. Not only because of what happens, but because of who steps into the light.
The Mirror Apostle isn't a typical villain.
He isn't chaos. He isn't corruption.
He is something far more dangerous: familiar. A reflection of Heaven, bent the wrong way.
Share your thoughts below, your theories, your favorite line, or even a simple cry of emotional damage.
The next chapter? The veil begins to thin.
With all love and a slightly trembling pen.
Amanda Hannibal