A devil child needs a devil fetus. I still don't know where that fetus originally comes from—but I do know the kind of people who mess around with that sort of thing.
Cults.
They're out there, living among us like anyone else. You wouldn't be able to tell if someone's in one. That's how good they are at blending in. It's like trying to figure out if someone's a furry—you could hang out with them for years and never know.
They live normal lives on the surface, but every now and then, they gather for one of their rituals, depending on whatever weird vision their leader's chasing.
There are all kinds of cults scattered across the world. Some are recent, barely getting off the ground. Others have been around forever, tracing their roots back to ancient times.
Each one worships something. Sometimes it's an actual being—I've met a few. Other times, it's complete nonsense, made up to scam people out of money.
"I'm part of a cult..." Carla explained.
Just as I suspected.
Right now, we're sitting side by side in a hospital waiting room. It's the weekend, and I'm here with Carla while she visits someone. She told me she'd explain everything here, and now, while we wait for the nurse to call us in, she starts sharing more of her story.
Carla grew up in a normal middle-class family. Her dad worked while she stayed home with her mom. Most days, he'd be back by the afternoon, but sometimes he came home late. Whenever he did, he'd bring her snacks or little toys—just something to make her smile. Those were good days. But they didn't last.
Her mom got sick. It started with a cough that never seemed to go away, and over time, she just got weaker. They took her to the doctor, but no one could figure out what was wrong. Her dad poured everything he had into finding a cure—time, money, hope—but nothing worked. Eventually, her mom fell into a coma.
With hospital bills piling up, her father had no choice but to work overseas.
"Back then, I didn't understand what was going on. Mom just… started sleeping and never woke up. And Dad went somewhere—I didn't know where. I was left alone in the house, doing everything by myself."
"Miss Carla, you can go to room C12 now," a nurse called out to us.
We stood and followed her through the quiet halls of the hospital. After a few turns, we stopped in front of a door marked 'C12'. The nurse gave a small nod, then left us there.
Inside, a woman lay on the bed, an IV line running from her arm. She looked a lot like Carla—same features, same hair—but her body was thin, her skin pale and tired-looking.
Carla moved to the chair beside the bed and sat down slowly. I stayed standing, just behind her.
"This is my mom," Carla said quietly. "She's been like this since I was a kid. I don't even remember what her voice sounds like anymore."
I stayed silent. There were still pieces missing, still parts of her story she hadn't explained—but at least now, I understood her motives. Why she was so obsessed with magic. Why she got involved with a cult.
"It doesn't make any sense… She's in a coma, but there's nothing wrong with her body. Can you believe that, Briar? Something like this… it's just so unfair."
Her voice cracked, the emotions she'd been holding back finally breaking through. She started crying—quiet at first, then deeper, heavier.
I didn't say anything. I just stood there beside her and gently patted her back, letting her grieve.
A few minutes later, she started to calm down. She wiped her face, then looked at me.
"So… what do you think, Briar? Can you cure—"
I shook my head before she could finish.
Her eyes widened at my response. But then, as if she'd already expected it, she lowered her gaze.
"I see. I guess that's to be expected."
"To be expected?" I asked, frowning.
"Someone from the cult came and looked at my mom once," Carla said quietly. "They said it was impossible, too. But then they told me… if I made more contributions to the cult, they'd bring someone stronger. Someone who could actually cure her."
I frowned.
'What a scam...'
If there really were someone out there who could heal better than me, I'd want to meet them myself—and I'd gladly bow to them. But let's be honest, even if they brought down an angel, it wouldn't change anything.
Because there's nothing to heal.
From the very beginning...
'That's just an empty shell.'
What's lying in that bed isn't a person. It's a flesh doll, running on simple automation.
'Her mother's already dead.'
***
I sat in the passenger seat of Carla's car as she drove. We were just coming back from the hospital.
Her eyes were still slightly red, the traces of tears not fully faded.
"Hey Briar, want to grab something to eat? My treat," she said, keeping her eyes on the road.
"I could go for something spicy," I replied.
"Spicy food it is! Let's go!" Carla said, her voice picking up with a bit of forced cheer.
I glanced at Carla. She wore a bright expression now, like nothing had happened.
There were still a lot of unanswered questions. How did she first come into contact with the cult? What exactly do they offer—and demand—from her? What's the cult's real name? And where does Luck fit into all of this?
Even so, I'd started piecing a few things together.
This wasn't just some random scam. These people knew what they were doing. I've known Carla for years—she's not the type to fall for a cheap trick. If they managed to convince her, then they've got methods—effective ones.
"Is there something wrong with my face?" Carla asked, noticing my gaze.
"Nothing. Sorry."
She was quiet for a moment, then said, "Briar... you don't have to feel bad about it. Like I told you, it's been this way for a long time. And…" —she took a breath— "you're the first person I've ever told."
Then she gave me a bright smile. "Now we're even, right?"
"Even?" I asked.
"Yeah. Now I've shared my secret, too."
I stayed quiet for a few seconds.
"Yeah," I said finally. "I guess we're even."
***
I was in Carla's apartment, playing a fighting game with her son, Luck. Carla sat on the sofa, watching us with a relaxed smile. A black cat lounged comfortably on Luck's lap as he mashed buttons, focused on the screen.
"Wow, you really beat him to a pulp…" Carla commented as I landed the final hit.
Luck scowled at the screen, clearly not thrilled with the outcome.
"Mom, I'm not weak. Mr. Briar is just built different, okay?" he said with a huff.
Carla widened her eyes in surprise, then laughed.
"Of course. Briar's just built different. He's amazing, isn't he?"
"Yes! Did you see how he countered my attack? That reaction speed—it's beyond human," Luck said with excitement.
I watched them, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
"Really? I think Briar's pretty human, though," Carla said, responding to Luck's dramatic praise.
My eyes widened. I hadn't expected that. Instinctively, I turned to look at her.
Noticing my reaction, Carla glanced back, her expression shifting.
"What? Wait—don't tell me you're 'not' human?" she asked, half-joking, half-concerned.
I met her eyes, and my expression softened.
"No," I said with a quiet smile. "You're right. I'm human."
***
I sat on the rooftop of Carla's apartment building. It was a nine-story, middle-class complex, tall enough to give me a clear view of the city stretching out beneath the night sky.
It was already past midnight. Carla and Luck had long since gone to sleep. There was an empty room in the apartment, and starting tonight, I'd be using it.
That's right—I'd decided to stay here for a while. I brought it up earlier while we were eating, and Carla agreed without hesitation. Luck, on the other hand, looked more excited than ever when he found out.
Not gonna lie—compared to my cheap old place, this apartment is a serious upgrade.
As I watched the city lights flicker in the night, my gaze drifted toward a few blocks down—near the parking area. An old car sat parked there, unremarkable at a glance.
'So that's the car...'
The black cat—my familiar—reported this a few days ago: someone's been monitoring Carla's apartment.
'They must be from the cult.'
I had one reason for choosing to stay here: to investigate the cult.
I could just walk over to that car and start asking questions 'kindly', but it'd be pointless. They're probably just disposable fodder, unlikely to know anything worthwhile.
A cult of this caliber wouldn't operate sloppily. They'd have systems in place—layers of misdirection, strict information control. If I want to reach the real people behind this, I'll need a better source.
Suddenly, I heard soft footsteps behind me. The black cat—my familiar—approached, carrying a few pieces of paper in her mouth.
She stopped beside me and dropped them gently at my side.
"Master, here's what I found," she said, her voice deep and feminine.
Earlier, I'd ordered her to search the apartment for anything suspicious—anything that might be linked to the cult.
I picked up the papers and gave them a quick glance. At first, they looked like nothing—blank, worn-out scraps.
'What a cheap concealment trick...'
Without hesitation, I cast a spell. Blood-red ink bled into view across the page, revealing a hidden message.
It was a letter—sent five months ago.
The contents were simple: a demand and a warning.
"So they wanted Luck..."
Apparently, the cult had tried to reclaim him five months ago, and Carla hadn't fulfilled their terms.
As I scanned the date and reread the warning, a realization clicked into place.
"Ah… so that wasn't an accident."
Three months ago, Carla's car brakes had failed—conveniently, right when we were driving together. At the time, it seemed like an incident. But now, it was clear: the cult had orchestrated it.
"Is this what she meant by dangerous?" I thought, recalling Carla's warning about the cult.
A quiet chuckle slipped from my lips.
To me, that kind of stunt was amateur work. Something even a teenager with the right tools and a bit of nerve could pull off.
Suddenly, a deep rage began to boil inside me.
"They really did it, huh..." I muttered, my voice low.
An ominous aura surged outward, thick and heavy. The black cat, sensing the shift in the air, instinctively curled back in fear.
I turned my eyes to the letter, scanning for a sender. Near the bottom, I found it—a cult name and a faintly etched symbol pressed into the paper.
'Pandora... so that's what they call themselves.'
My eyes glowed red under the moonlight, a smile creeping across my face.
"Pandora... I hope you're ready for my visit."