TWO

IT WAS SURREAL, staring at the exact thing I’d just seen in my dream. Dilapidated wooden slats. Old busted windows. Two beams where the roof used to hang. I approached the house and shone my phone light through a broken window. There was no running water, like in my dream, but I was still intrigued.

It would be a short walk around to the front of the square-shaped house, and I was anxious to get there and inspect the ground a few steps from the door—the spot where Molek had been laid to rest in my dream, pounded into the earth by mighty Watchmen. Who else could do that kind of damage to him?

I was mid-stride when a threatening howl echoed through the field—not the cry of some four-legged animal scavenging for rodents, but the groan of an unearthly creature. A Creeper on the prowl. I pressed my back against the side of the house and waited. There it was again—several at once. A pack of them.

A gentle breeze swept over me in the sunrise, a stark contrast to the threatening wails drawing closer. I pressed harder against the rotting wood, careful not to exhale too loudly.

When all became quiet, I made my move, inching forward and spying from behind the corner of the house.

I’d never seen anything like this. Not even close.

There were six squatty creatures, about three feet tall and muddy brown. They formed a tight cluster with their backs to me, their heads lowered. One of them extended a pair of bony, bald wings—shaped like a crooked umbrella—into the unmistakable silhouette of a bat. That’s when I connected them with the horde I’d seen in my distressing dream, but these were way bigger.

My pulse kicked into high gear. I know what they’re staring at.

I had to see for myself.

Instinct said to remain hidden from hate-filled demonic forces like these, but courage demanded I take action. I gazed down at the divine aura around my Adidas—the light that had never stopped shining since the moment my shackle had busted off my neck, liberating my soul. And I reminded myself that light triumphs over darkness.

Always.

Well . . .

Unless we welcome evil into our lives and become its naive friend. A lesson I’d learned the hardheaded way, but at least I knew better now.

I squared my shoulders and strode toward the giant bats—a hybrid species of Creeper with a specialized spirit-world function, no doubt. The wind wafted their overpowering stench my way, as rotten as it had been in my nightmare.

Any second, they’d see me, but I was determined not to care. I belonged to a superior kingdom.

Still, it startled me when, all at once, they twisted their thick necks and looked back at me. They didn’t have cute bat faces with puppy-like features but flat, gnarly snouts and beady red eyes.

I froze.

But not for long. I willed myself to take one step at a time, praying, defying fear.

When I came close enough that my light nearly grazed the bats, they took flight. Their wingspan was about as wide as my outstretched arms. They swarmed in speedy circles above my head, but they didn’t swoop down on me. Instead, all six of them hurled insults at me, their voices a chilling, raspy whisper. They called me names like coward and weakling and orphan and threatened to spy on me and attack at night while I slept, smothering me to death.

I knew I was awake, but the experience was so freakishly disturbing, it felt like I was dreaming all over again.

Stay focused, Owen. I’d come here for a reason. A crucial one.

Sure enough, standing out like a patch of snow on dark desert sand, Molek’s face was a foot away from where I stood. Just like I’d dreamed, his right eyelid hung lower than his left. Was there anything on earth or beyond so petrifying as his hollow pupils?

The pit of hell came to mind.

I stepped closer, determined to make sure there was no sign of life. If he didn’t react to my aura contacting his skin, he was dead for sure.

It was surreal to see the Lord of the Dead’s face illuminated in heavenly light. It exposed tiny fissures in his milky-white skin—a web of cracks, like he was made of porcelain and had suffered repeat blows. He didn’t gasp when my light hit him, but then again, Creepers don’t breathe. But he didn’t twist or flinch or cry out in anguish either.

That settled it for me. “He’s dead.”

I would have liked to have seen exactly when and how he’d met his fatal ending, but all that really mattered was that he was finished—that it was possible for a seemingly immortal being to die.

This was worth celebrating.

I gave him a last look, ready to walk away; the badgering bats were growing unbearable. But something caught my eye—my spiritual vision. A substance coated the inside of Molek’s gaping mouth, blanketing his tongue. Death dust mixed with tiny black specks. The mystery substance that had stung my skin in the dream.

Despite the chaos and cruelty swarming overhead, I lowered onto my hands and knees, squinting into Molek’s mouth.

What was that stuff?

I bent my elbows, putting my face as close to the Creeper corpse as I could bear. He’d always reeked of burnt flesh and sulfur, but there was only a faint trace of it now. I never thought I’d see the day my breath would graze Molek’s unresponsive cheeks.

But then I stopped breathing, because . . .

He looked straight at me.

And blinked.