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“So, it’s true? You’re trying to recover the Elements to restore the Realm of Men?”
Aisling struggled to keep up with Naamah, who led the way with an almost nonchalant ease. The demoness ascended the spiral staircase of the tower effortlessly, while the young human had to pace her breathing so as not to fall too far behind.
“Rumors travel fast…” Strife remarked sarcastically.
The demoness didn’t turn around, continuing her graceful climb without pause.
“There’s no avoiding it, not these days. The End War is upon us, and sides will have to be chosen.”
Idris, ever vigilant, watched the tall figure ahead of him with wary eyes.
“Aren’t you on Hell’s side?” he asked, raising a skeptical brow.
Naamah let out a soft laugh—a sound more bitter than amused.
“Once, yes. But it’s been ages since we’ve heard from our leaders, whether Samael or the Prince of Darkness. For all I know, Hell could be in the midst of a civil war. And even though Heaven clearly fired the first shot, it’s obvious now that something much bigger is at play.”
Aisling glanced at Strife, trying to read a reaction, an opinion, anything—but he remained impassive behind his helmet.
“Then whose side are you on?” Idris pressed, his tone growing firmer.
This time, Naamah paused on a step and slowly turned around. Her amber gaze swept across each of them, as though the question itself were absurd.
“Yours, of course.”
A heavy silence filled the narrow stairwell.
“Ours?” Aisling and Idris exchanged a confused glance.
Naamah sighed quietly and shook her head.
“I admit I wasn’t your race’s greatest advocate in the past, but since I’ve been on Earth, I’ve come to understand your people’s importance—and your knowledge’s—to the Balance. You are necessary. Essential, even. And…”
“Lady, if your next sentence includes something like ‘I was expecting you’, I swear: I’m done talking—I shoot.”
Strife had raised a finger, threatening, and even though his tone remained light, the warning underneath was crystal clear. But Naamah didn’t take offense in the slightest. In fact, she seemed to have expected it.
“Of course, I completely understand,” she replied, her smile widening to reveal the predatory glint of her teeth. “Which is why I’m going to demonstrate my… good faith. Follow me.”
She turned on her heel and resumed her climb without waiting for a reply.
Aisling hesitated a second, then glanced toward Strife. He didn’t move immediately, and only when he gave them a subtle signal did she and Idris finally follow the demoness.
At last, they reached a landing. Without a word, Naamah hastened to open a massive pair of gray metal doors. A rush of cooler air drifted through the opening, carrying with it a strange scent—a mix of sulfur, ancient parchment, and an indefinable metallic tang. She stepped aside, bowing her head slightly, as if entering a sanctuary where she was but the guardian.
Aisling, Idris, and Strife crossed the threshold and discovered a dizzying space.
They stood on a circular balcony overlooking the base of an enormous structure. The tower was hollow at its core, revealing a steel abyss that stretched across dozens of floors. Around them, galleries spiraled in concentric rings—some protected by thick panes of glass, others open, separated only by massive black metal railings etched with sharp patterns. Beyond, countless figures moved with near-mechanical precision.
Countless demons—far from the image of brutish warriors or nobles draped in gold and fine fabrics like the Emissary of the Burning Lakes—worked here like bees in a hive. Their clothing was simple, functional—fitted tunics sometimes reinforced with plates of armor or harnesses that held intricate tools. Their towering forms appeared even more imposing under the harsh glow of luminescent orbs suspended at regular intervals. Some were buried in scrolls and books; others adjusted strange spectacles with multiple lenses of various shades that clicked and shifted as they moved.
All around, suspended metal platforms held massive instruments whose purposes eluded Aisling entirely. Machines engraved with demonic sigils pulsed softly, almost alive. Some projected glowing red holograms of schematics and complex designs. Higher up, a forge purred—a cascade of sparks rising as mechanical arms shaped equipment whose nature defied the imagination.
Time had left its mark on the place, but despite the scars of the Apocalypse’s reign, it was clear that this place still teemed with activity. Aisling stood frozen, absorbing every detail with a mixture of fascination and incomprehension.
“I didn’t know there were intellectuals among demons…” she had once said to Samyaza, half amused, half intrigued.
“There is everything in the Infernal Realm.”
Now, she saw it.
“What is that?” Idris asked, his brow furrowed.
“It’s… a laboratory…” she breathed in response, letting her gaze wander over this immense anthill where Hell revealed yet another of its many faces.
“What does that mean, demon?” Strife turned abruptly to Naamah, his tone as sharp as a dagger’s edge.
Behind them, the demoness had stopped at a slight distance, clearly giving them time to take in the sight. A faint smile played on her lips, amused, perhaps, by their astonishment. She stepped forward slowly, the claws of her feet scraping lightly against the metal balcony floor.
“While Angels and Demons were busy slaughtering each other with swords and sorcery, Humans thrived in one of their most extraordinary domains… science.”
Aisling frowned slightly, her eyes still fixed on the ordered chaos of demons above. She watched their precise movements, the glow of flames reflecting off their tools, the frantic scratching of quills on parchment, and the indistinct waves of murmured incantations or equations.
“Aren’t the Angels far more advanced than we’ve ever been, technologically?” she finally asked, without turning her gaze.
“It’s true,” Naamah said, stopping beside them and nodding slowly. “The Angels possess immense knowledge—far beyond anything Humanity has ever achieved. Their technologies are unimaginably complex, their citadels float above worlds, and their weapons can annihilate entire armies in a single strike. But…”
She paused, letting her words settle in the air.
“They are shackled by their precepts and ideologies. They refuse to cross certain lines. They’ve chained their knowledge to the dogmas of the Heavens, preventing any true evolution. Even they have failed to unlock what Humans accomplished here…”
A silence fell. Aisling sensed Strife tense slightly beside her. Even without seeing his face, she could tell he was raising an incredulous eyebrow.
“Meaning?”
With a note of unrestrained pride in her voice, Naamah took a deep breath and spread her arms wide, encompassing the vast tower and the organized chaos within it.
“To create life!”
The declaration echoed through the vast space, reverberating off the metal walls of the structure. Above them, the demons continued their work, indifferent to the shock settling on the balcony below. Aisling didn’t know what to think, still watching without understanding what she was seeing—what was truly happening here. Once again, she stepped closer to Idris and Strife, but even they seemed at a loss.
“Follow me…”
With a fluid motion, Naamah stepped onto a narrow spiral staircase that wound around the core of the tower. The metal beneath their feet vibrated subtly, coursed with almost organic pulses, as though the very structure was breathing.
They ascended through the laboratories, forced to pass through each level to reach the next. This meant navigating directly through the workspaces, brushing against massive workbenches cluttered with tools, parchment scribbled with esoteric formulas, and vials containing unknown substances.
Aisling felt her body tense under the weight of the stares that followed them. All around, demons briefly paused their tasks to observe these intruders venturing into their domain. Their piercing, often luminescent eyes fixed on them with a disturbing intensity. But she soon realized it wasn’t suspicion or hostility—rather, it was annoyance, a quiet irritation at the disruption to their labor. A vivid demonstration of their obsessive dedication to research, they moved aside with impatient efficiency, making way for Naamah without a word, though not without an exasperated sigh.
As they advanced, the demoness spoke, her voice echoing through the vastness of the lab.
“When I found this tower, not long after the Apocalypse began, it became clear to me that Humans had managed to surpass so many of the universe’s laws… More than anyone could have imagined.”
She brushed her fingers lightly over a console etched with runes and tangled circuitry, as if to emphasize her point.
“Much of their knowledge was lost, of course. But we managed to preserve fragments—enough to grasp the scope of their accomplishments.”
Aisling couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scattered esoteric instruments, from the strange dance of shadows beneath the pale glow of the suspended spheres.
“Did you know that before their fall, Humans were capable of creating artificial organs, of reconstructing damaged biological tissue?” Naamah continued as she climbed another level, her voice growing more vibrant. “They altered organisms at the most fundamental level, manipulating the very code of life with unprecedented audacity.”
Idris remained silent, but Aisling sensed his unease.
“They even created thinking machines—conscious ones…” Naamah let out a quiet laugh. “Which, in fact, might have ended up exterminating them had the Apocalypse not done it first. The fate of a creator may well be to be destroyed by its creation. But that,” she added with a sardonic smile, “is another discussion entirely…”
The group continued to climb.
As they ascended floor after floor, the scenery changed subtly. From spaces dedicated to pure theory, they moved into areas of applied research. The scribbled notes and complex schematics gave way to vats where fragments of flesh floated in a fluid with amber hues. Further along, on a steel table, strange appendages—still twitching with spasms—seemed to react to the precise manipulations of a stern-looking demon wearing multi-lensed glasses.
“They could heal a sick baby while it was still inside its mother…” Naamah went on, her voice lowering slightly, taking on an almost solemn tone. “And even… give a healthy child to parents who otherwise never could have had one.”
A shiver ran down Aisling’s spine. The demoness’s words echoed within her with unexpected force. A memory—uninvited and visceral—surged up, raw and aching.
At her side, Strife didn’t seem any more at ease. He hadn’t spoken in several minutes, but his body betrayed his discomfort. His hands had tensed near his revolvers. Aisling instinctively stepped closer to him, seeking some anchor in the familiar presence against the disturbing unknown unraveling before them. But she found little comfort.
Naamah did not pause. Her speech flowed on, carried by a fervor that bordered on rapture. She halted briefly, her eyes glinting with a mysterious light, then drew in a deep breath.
“Humans were capable of extraordinary feats, pushing the boundaries of what we believed possible. They defied the laws of our universe… They created new species, hybrids… capable of cultivating genetic traits over centuries.”
She turned slightly toward them, her gaze sharp, as though probing their understanding.
“And the one who can thus create life… is he not, in a sense, the equal of the Creator?”
Aisling exchanged a quick glance with Idris. What exactly was she talking about? What was she implying? A shadow of dread slid through her mind, a growing unease she couldn’t shake. But before she could ask, Naamah resumed her ascent.
They climbed the levels one by one and soon reached laboratories that appeared designed for far more… ambitious experiments. Inside large transparent tanks—big enough to fit someone twice the size of War—floating bodies drifted slowly in viscous liquids. Grotesque, mutilated forms, suspended between life and death, as if healing or ripening under the influence of some mysterious force.
Aisling, Idris, and Strife froze.
Inside the tanks, the silhouettes of the mutants they had encountered earlier were now clearly visible. Their limbs appeared distorted—some appendages barely formed, others torn or still growing—but all of them floated in a morbid stillness, as if suspended by an invisible thread.
Nearby, more numerous here than elsewhere, demons closely monitored every mutation, recording every detail, adjusting unseen parameters. One specimen rested on a worktable farther back, its body partially gestating, a skeletal tail coiled around it as if for protection or comfort. It looked so fragile, so imperfect… and yet very much alive.
Naamah turned to them, excitement and pride radiating from her being. She walked slowly toward the tanks, watching them with an almost possessive gaze.
“Well… what do you think?”
Idris stepped slowly toward one of the tanks, his face frozen in an unreadable expression. Words refused to come, crushed under the weight of the vision unfolding before them
“You created them?”
“Thanks to the work of the Humans before us, yes…” The demoness nodded, an enigmatic smile on her lips.
“Hybridization is an absolutely fascinating field. Humans managed it with plants, flowers, animals… We simply applied it to more… complex subjects.”
Aisling felt a wave of nausea rise in her stomach, her gaze locked on the creatures inside the tanks. But before she could voice her thoughts, a voice—icy and resolute—cut through the silence.
“I know what you’re trying to do here…”
Strife had drawn one of his pistols in a flash. The black barrel pointed directly at Naamah, his stare as sharp as a blade. The demons around them froze at once, suspended in the moment. A few, whom Aisling hadn’t noticed until now, emerged from the shadows—armed like soldiers, their dark armor blending seamlessly into the lab’s gloom. They moved forward in controlled strides, but Naamah calmly raised her hand, and the gesture brought them to a halt.
“The last time someone was foolish enough to create a hybrid race, it nearly destroyed all of Creation,” Strife’s voice rang out, cold and unforgiving. “I won’t let that happen again, demon…”
Aisling scanned the other scientists. A suffocating sense of entrapment pressed down on her—they were deep in foreign territory with no clear way out. But an odd feeling coursed through her. More than fear or aggression, the demons around them seemed worried—concerned that one of their precious specimens might be harmed. No open hostility showed in their glowing eyes—only, perhaps, disdain.
Naamah remained composed. She raised a soothing hand, a calm smile floating on her lips.
“I understand your concern, White Rider,” she stepped slightly closer, as if her words alone could diffuse the tension. “And you have my word. We haven’t created Nephilim… and we don’t intend to.”
“Tsk… not sure your word means a damn thing to me, demon,” Strife narrowed his eyes, the gun still trained on her.
“I can let you explore this place as much as you wish,” she said gently. “I won’t stand in your way. You’ll see for yourselves that the only race present here is… our Rephaim.”
The word echoed through the air, strange to Aisling’s ears. It was a word she had never read nor heard before. She turned to Strife, studying his posture. For the first time since they had met, he seemed to have lost his perfect composure. His fingers were visibly clenched around his weapon, and though his expression was masked, his gaze appeared harder, more tense, his body coiled with unusual intensity.
Something deeper, more visceral, was disturbing him—not just a tactical concern. Something far more… personal.
Was the idea of a new generation of Nephilim truly that terrifying to him?
Fearing the situation might escalate, the young woman stepped cautiously toward the Horseman, keeping enough distance not to startle him, yet close enough to try and catch his attention—to break the growing silence that pressed down on them like a vice
“Strife… it’s all right. We can search the place if you need to…”
He didn’t react, his eyes still locked on Naamah, his weapon trained on her, ready to strike. At last, he growled—his voice harsh and cold, almost foreign compared to the one he usually used.
“Rephaim? What the hell is that?”
Naamah, visibly pleased that curiosity had begun to outweigh his anger, answered with unwavering confidence, her voice filled with a pride Aisling could not ignore.
“My creation… Perfect soldiers.”
“Ha! Perfect?” Strife let out a harsh, cynical laugh that rang through the vast chamber. “I already blew one of them to pieces—and nearly did the same with the others downstairs. They didn’t seem so tough to me…”
Naamah didn’t appear fazed. She merely shrugged, as if she had expected nothing less from him.
“The ones you encountered outside were prototypes. Unfortunately, their lifespan was limited. But the next generation…” She left the sentence hanging, a flicker of excitement shining in her eyes. “The next generation will be… magnificent.”
At those words, Aisling felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Strife’s gaze grew sharper, his stance more tense than ever, but he didn’t respond immediately. Idris, who until then had remained relatively calm, straightened slightly—ready to act. Yet, somewhat surprisingly, his sword remained sheathed. His gaze, just as piercing as Strife’s, turned toward Naamah.
“Soldiers?” he asked with clear skepticism, his eyes still fixed on the tanks standing before them. “I don’t understand. You spoke of choosing a side earlier…”
Naamah folded her arms, a satisfied smile still resting on her lips. She seemed deeply pleased by their growing confusion, as if it were all part of a grand reveal.
“Indeed… And these soldiers… are for Humanity.”
At that moment, Naamah gestured to one of the demons standing nearby. From the upper levels, more lights flickered on—and Aisling saw entire rows of new tanks, filled with creatures far larger and more sophisticated than the ones they had seen so far. Floating within the strange, viscous liquid, their bodies were still twisted and grotesque—yet somehow… more complete, if such a thing could be said.
When Aisling turned her gaze back to Naamah, the demoness was smiling—proud, radiant.
“After all… There can be no war without soldiers.”