MadUsoul's Crossing

By Azreay'l

In ancient times, pure evil depicted in Madusoul's Crossing existed, destructively conquering mankind until captured by a consortium of mixed tribes. Madusoul was entombed, covered in heaps of stone, sealed forever, never to destroy again. Well... until an African tribe arose, obsessed; starting a chain of events when secretly visiting an undist

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gotham Books
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887755304

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MadUsoul’s

Crossing

Azreay’l

Gotham Books

30 N Gould St.

Ste. 20820, Sheridan, WY 82801

https://gothambooksinc.com/

Phone: [phone]

© 2023 Azreay’l. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by Gotham Books (August 18, 2023)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-531-1 (H)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-529-8 (P)

ISBN: 979-8-88775-530-4 (E)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid.

The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

DEDICATION

The novel is a loving tribute to my father, Robert Randolph Fikes, who was 72 years young when in the presence of the Lord.

My dad was a third-head generation pillar of a line of solid pillars, with Christ being the head and cornerstone of this family. To know him was, naturally, to love him. It was his talent that made him the lead singer of a spiritual group in the southern as well as many northern states - the lead singer of the Dixieland Gospel Singers. During the course of writing other comical novels, I realized that my father is the one who instilled in me my sense of humor.

I know that he would have enjoyed this dedication, but then again, he knew before his transition that this dedication would someday arrive, so here we are.

Considering his fun-loving nature, I think a comedy would have been a good fit, however, given his inner struggles and transitions, I think a novel spiritual in nature with a twist of humor would be a great choice.

We sometimes struggle in this world when deciding to follow Christ or so we think, but stay the course and never give up on your desire to walk with HIM. Although it seems tricky with evil and principalities persistently active, it is a safer walk in HIS presence than alone or in deception. With HIM, there is a reward far more promising than what this world offers. Learn to put your non-earthly treasures in Heaven through your Spiritual being (the faithful things you can’t see).

Throughout my childhood, my FATHER and my father taught me values that helped shape me into who I am today. My core being remains rooted in the Word/words even to this day. The relentless love they brought to our family makes me very proud, knowing HE brought me into this world with the title, ‘Son!’

For the FATHER, I give praise for we will always be. For the father, I say I miss you, pops, but your spirit lives on! ONE will always be at hand, and the other in memory; neither to be forgotten! Selah!

SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGMENT AND COMMITMENT

Above all things, I give thanks and praise wholeheartedly to Almighty God and my Lord, Jesus Christ, who laid down HIS life for my sins. I realize I am nothing without the Almighty ONE! HE gives me every breath I breathe, so I am continually grateful. God has blessed me with the ability to explore my talents; inventing, songwriting, literary writing, business planning, and business development. HE has enabled me to dream dreams and live them. At my best or worst, HE is my Lord, Healer, Savior, and Deliverer. In my trials and tribulations, there is one thing consistent, and that is; HE has been, is, and will always be, according to HIS Word, on which I stand. God First! HE is God alone!

Look around…,

the world is full of followers and needs more leaders! Are you a follower or leader? If a leader, why allow others to deceive you into things that are an abomination?

I want to send a special toast to everyone who previewed MadUsoul’s Crossing in its rarest form. Your valuable remarks, appraisals, and constructive criticism helped bring MadUsoul’s Crossing to its pinnacle, so I applaud you! I give thanks to the generous strangers who pulled no punches in their critiquing.

MadUsoul’s Crossing is on the following website(s): www.gothambooksinc.com, www.thebookwalker.com, www.dynamicdimenzion.com and other leading bookseller sites, and official novel sites!

Bravo Zulu to my adept editor’s support! Thanks for your quality time and endless efforts in making MadUsoul a delightful read, though an author’s changes are endless. With that said, this is the author’s new addition; the revamped version, and final cut.

Here’s a special thanks to Liz Peterson for the contributions of her incorporated, copy-written lyrics.

MEET THE AUTHOR

Who is Azreay’l? He is a: freelance, amateur author, inventor, poet, business developer, songwriter, business planner, and visionary. He lives in Newport News, Virginia, with his lovely wife, Mary. His greatest gifts are those revealed from the North, encompassed through extraordinarily vivid imaginations, dreams, daydreams, and nightmares. Spiritual interventions are his creative blessings for his talents and works.

He joined the U.S. Armed Forces in 1980, served in the Army and Navy, and retired from the Navy in June 2001. He served 20 years of faithful and honorable military service and retired as a highly decorated Chief Petty Officer - Enlisted Surface Warfare Specialist (ESWS).

He concentrates his authoring towards the success of being a mixed genre author. His first four novels are under copyright with the Library of Congress (LOC).

He is ecstatic about the release of his first three patents; GRID-LOCX (a new strategic board game), the Viral Shield (VS-2000), clear-shield face mask, Personal Protective Equipment (PPE), and CLICK! (a new strategic board game). He works diligently on his mega-billion-dollar valuation business plans for his future, global-enterprise venture(s): Dynamic Dimenzions, LLC, STITCHUZ, LLC, and JVINCO, LLC, which ties all of his current projects together. His business plan aids new investors in increasing their Return on Investment (ROI) for these start-up portfolios while assisting entrepreneurs in launching their businesses with lower overheads.

His authoring learning experiences are writing one way to perfect a style, proofing a hundred times if needed; only to search the production product, realizing you are not perfect! Of course, it seems like there are a gazillion gadgets with which to contend for proofing…, LOL. You can never do it all with just spell and grammar check.

Advice to new authors: Regardless of the world, which is full of critics, those jealous of your accomplishments, and envious because they know they can never reach those goals you are trying to achieve, so they try to discourage you. Forget about em’, as my old Italian buddy would say! Just go for it, and enjoy what you do, and have fun doing it! Nothing hurts a failure but a try…, some knowledgeable person once quoted.

To future fans: Thanks for your eager eyes, which caught MadUsoul’s Crossing’s enticing cover, drawing you near and sparking your curiosity. Your excellent taste has not gone unnoticed, my dear friends.

As for Azreay’l, if he’s not working the 9-5 IT Security or sky-lighting in intelligence operations; he’s drafting that next new invention, engineering a prototype, detailing an intense plot for the next novel, or working on that subsequent inclusion or expansion for his enterprise business model.

Azreay’l’s hobbies:

Mixed-genre writing

Inventing

Drafting leading company business plans

Developing strong business models

Now, something fun…, let’s call it - a bonus pack!

Try this at home, alone (preferably late at night).

Create a pitch dark room; no sound.

Sit in a chair, eyes closed, and relax, focusing on your greatest fears (something creepy and crawling), allowing your imagination to intensify through meditation. Don’t flinch if feeling an unknown, warm breath against your skin or something crawling across your flesh. Now, imagine that horror magnified ten-fold.

Honestly, this image alone won’t ever give you an inkling of an idea of the horror to come at the end of this world, for it will be a day of darkness, the gnashing of teeth. Of course, this image only gives you a pinpoint of the raft to come, but in reality, we can’t fathom that day, but we’re blessed to read of it before time. The sharing of the second coming is just another example of pure love, though we ignore the signs. Whoa…, unto that man or woman!

Irony: The weatherman tells of a storm coming, and we run out and clean the store shelves, fill the tanks and run water in the tub, to name a few. God has told us that the world is coming to an end, and through love and long suffering, HE has patience, hoping many more will save their Souls, yet they do nothing!

PLAN OF ACTION AND MILESTONES (POA&M)

NOVELS

Other novels by Azreay’l. Now Showing!!!

Tainted Obsessions – Suspense, Erotica

Liberty Call… Port of Spain – Hilariously funny, Comical

STITCHES – Gut-bustlingly, Comical

Other novels by Azreay’l in the makings!!!

The Mirror in the Mirror – Bone-chilling, Horror

To… Nowhere– Suspense, Inspiration

Forgotten Sorrows – Heart and mind-melting, Deep Inspiration

Drugged - Heart and mind-melting, Deep inspiration

GOALS

Short-term: To be an established, well-known mixed-genre author, inventor, invention-publisher financier, and chairman of the board of directors for my future businesses.

Long-term goals: Become a business planner, developer for several new companies and develop into a thriving, generous venture capitalist and philanthropist.

DISCLAIMER

What is MadUsoul’s Crossing? Merely a compilation of words pulled together from one’s vision; the author. They are simply thoughts that have crossed the minds of generations before us, those with us, and those to come. They are words written yet playfully scripted and mind soothing. MadUsoul’s Crossing encompasses the world as we see it, grasping both good and evil.

This novel is for relaxation, reality, pleasurable reading, entertainment, and sometimes laughter, a remedy for healing the body and Soul.

I love everyone with the brotherly-sisterly love instilled in us at birth, yet stripped away in our rearing and innocence; through inheritances and beliefs passed down through generations. No matter who you are or what you claim to be, I am no judge, for we judge not, for judgment will come to us; and all shall, one day, be judged by the ONE AND ONLY JUDGE!

The locations, titles, positions, and horrifying settings are an outreach into my civil past and the merriment experienced or witnessed growing up. The characters only reflect the personalities of our society, and you can’t separate that knitting. This novel does not reflect upon or target any person or group, but it is a compilation of various groups in general. The character make-up crosses an equally mixed gender, based on our society as a whole.

Question: Have your eyes been opened so that you now see or ears that you now hear?

Evil is a clear and present danger! Evil is continually before us, from the lowest person to the proud, for we are without knowledge and easily seduced. The traps and snares are before us! Will you be blind like those in MadUsoul’s Crossing, for they knew not the evil nor saw the traps but drank from the cup of evil? Yes, deceived, and they drank from not one but many cups and most, not by choice.

God gives us free will through love, but the things HE despises (those abominable things), some grow to hate in their soul, purely from a passion for HIM as we mature and learn to see with our eyes and hear with our ears as we wax old or so we should hope and pray in this revelation.

Note: Quality plagiarism software is run against this novel. If any perceived indication of plagiarism exists, I will gladly add a citation in my next novel if there is an oversight. Spiritual excerpts are from the KJV Bible. I praise God for sharing HIS beautiful and life-rewarding Word and words.

Please sit back, relax, sip on your favorite beverage, while I present to you, MadUsoul’s Crossing!

~smile~

Freedom of speech…, there is nothing like it, so enjoy!

PROLOGUE

IN ANCIENT SOUTH AFRICA, deep in the thick rain forest, dusk falls with intense, notorious, and frightening beastly sounds rising slowly.

A dim torch ignites with bright white, fearful eyes glazing over a faded, ancient, crinkled, hand-drawn map. A 6-foot African tribal Soldier balls the map with fierce eyes rolling with his body turning, slowly. He listens eagerly, advancing in intervals.

He takes slow, heart-pounding steps, gazing over the ground until dropping down, feeling deep into the warm sand with mud-dried feet digging deep. His eyes bulge, excitedly, when rising slowly until kneeling. He pauses, hearing semi-wet, crunchy leaves, squinting when looking back and is astonished, finding eyes glowing male figures in the distance, with the men, fading when looking away. He feels around more until touching a warm, black onyx slate.

He eases the stem of the torch to his mouth, straining and pushing the slate back. He drops lower, sitting with ears attentive and eyes swarming fast. He pushes harder with his feet, and out of nowhere, a pleasant, cool, calm wind kicks up, blowing his dread-locks in his face, slightly.

The torch slips, and he catches it, pointing it toward the distant, manly figures, then even quicker into the dark hole, dropping his hand deep inside. He sits, listening, quietly, when jerking and pulling out two sticks, rubbing them fast and hard, until sparking a bright, blue flame. He shuffles big, burning leaves inside, hearing a loud hissing, instantly.

The remarkably calm wind kicks up, spiking the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

Colorful, poisonous snakes strike, continuously at the fast dancing flame, instantly.

The Soldier sweats profusely, reaching slowly over his shoulder then freezes, listening closely and pulling out a handmade tong. His hand moves quickly until elbow deep. He feels around with eyes very attentive while tracking the snakes’ fast and poisonous strikes. His eyes bulge in excitement, and he freezes, gripping and pulling on a damp, mangled cloth scroll.

He comes to his feet, swiftly, looking around when hearing soft, distant footsteps upon the semi-wet, yet crunchy leaves when dropping low with an ear to a stone.

Several eyes peer out of the darkness, instantly, surrounding the Soldier.

The Soldier swipes at his waist, feverishly, brandishing a sharp, long, jagged, two-edged machete and clenching it in his teeth. He springs forward, fearfully, pausing and listening earnestly, for minutes.

Four powdery face tribal warriors fade in from the darkness slowly, with knife-toting hands as mild chants grow.

A light whisper grows louder, and an argument erupts in an undistinguishable native tongue.

The Soldier swings his blade furiously, backing and turning, quickly. He slews the blade violently toward the stockiest man, instantly, taking a few heart-pounding jabs.

The four tribal warriors draw closer and another man runs in view, surprisingly, slinging a rock from a worn-down leather strap, hitting the Soldier in the chest with precision and staggering him.

The Soldier drops back, gaining his balance when taking another jab, kicking another man in the face. He turns, lunging stealthily between the other two men, bobbing and weaving, until gaining his bearing when the chase begins.

The five men run in a mad race until the Soldier loses sight of the fastest man when cutting down a deep path and fading in the thick brush.

Out of nowhere, the Soldier advances on a high ledge, running swifter, until springing forward, bravely, and high when lunging, unknowingly, from a high cliff. He feels a persistent emptiness when dropping ten stories, and plunging loudly into the murky water seconds later, and reappearing. A heavy downpour from the waterfall comes, and he dips, stroking forward with all his strength. He fades a few times, lunging forward in heavier strokes until side-stroking. He stops, bobbing, when taking a few breaststrokes, and more stealth side-strokes until slamming into the muddy bank. He grasps for the thin tree’s roots, feverishly, with brute strength, pulling up along the treacherous bank when poisonous darts shoot out from high above, slamming into thick boulders.

The Soldier low crawls, remaining shielded by the steep hanging cliff, slightly when a single then multiple poisonous darts penetrate his body. He slips, taking cover in a cry, and falls forward, silently.

The tallest warrior motions the other four to the cliff’s edge, with the five looking at each other, curiously. They form a single file, strategically, into a narrow, beaten down path, jumping simultaneously and plunging then bobbing, quickly.

The leader accounts for everyone, swiftly, motioning them to the muddy bank.

Within minutes, mild winds kick up, rattling several wide bushes with bright, white eyes peeking from the bushes, finding the five approaching relatively fast.

The men pull up on thick vines, helping each other out of the cool water, anxiously. They look for the scroll until one points, advancing briskly, when poisonous darts disburse, simultaneously dropping the five!

The bushmen approach the tall, dead Soldier, expressly, with scary and wandering eyes when several screams, moans, and groans rise, fading into total silence, quickly.

Minutes later, the winds swirl briskly, shaking the bushes for seconds until calming.

There is a long silence, then a peaceful calm.

Out of nowhere, a loud, single drum thump floats in, followed by silence, then a series of thumps echoing from leather skin drums before a more profound, orchestrated beat fades in, followed by silence.

A loud squelch comes from out of nowhere when six more valiant Bushmen stand, girded with long leaves wrapped about their: heads, shoulders, arms, knees, and ankles.

The leader rushes to his slain Soldier, snatching him up. He grabs the scroll, and two drummers take off running, the fifth and sixth grabbing the Soldier and falling in ranks, carrying the dead soldier. They run in unison toward a village, and a foreign, new beat grows with hearts vibrating and pounding, heavily.

The men rush from the thick trees and huge leaves into an open field covered with huts. They come from the backside into the view of the vast tribe of topless women adorned in matching leopard-skin thongs or G-strings. They run into view of the men, finally adorned in matching, loin-covered rags, and dancing continually, until a single trumpet sounds and the people spread out, making a path.

The leader rushes to the sitting Chief, bowing and extending the scroll, and there is total silence.

Within minutes, another path clears, and a witch doctor rushes up, unraveling the lace of the scroll.

The scroll rolls downward, briskly, blowing lifelessly until swaying in a wonton fashion.

The calm fires from the torches burn brightly, flickering, continually.

Suddenly, a hundred dark swirls of Evil Spirits fly out of the unraveling scroll in various directions.

The cast of two-hundred plus, self-sufficient, tribal members drop-down, fearfully; face to the ground, covering their heads and faces.

The Tribal Chief stands, chanting nervously, when hundreds of red, beady eyes appear high, in the rainforest.

A chant multiplies in strength rhythmically, echoing louder than the tribal, mumbling voices when hushing in fear. The chanting grows even louder until stopping abruptly, seconds later.

There is total silence for a long time.

The Tribal Chief looks around nervously, placing a hand inside a leather-covered cup with the word ‘sacrifice’ scribbled, sloppily, along the outside. He pulls out a thick stick from amongst the thirty when the witch doctor retrieves the one, slowly, with wide eyes, screaming the Voodoo Lady, Olivia’s name when hearing thunder clapping, instantly.

On the island, in the distance, the wicked worshiper, Olivia, sits in a dark hut, reading into the Soul of a client. Her crystal ball goes black and flickers then flashes, glowing brighter than the radiant sun.

The terrified client’s hair shoots out, and she stands tall in a horrendous scream with red tears blinding her, instantly. What have you done? Ayi, Yi, Yi…, what have you done, Livy? I can’t see…, I can’t see! she screams, anxiously. She grasps for something to balance against with a sweaty hand.

Olivia’s eyes bulge like golf balls. She screams, backing against the wall in fear when her eyes glow a bright fluorescent color, when dimming, quickly. She rushes to the mirror, feeling her forehead and freezes, staring at the red spot, finding a strange symbol still carving into her skin with blood trickling.

Black dust in the form of bodies flies by out of nowhere, knocking both women down.

The room dims, turning into pure darkness with moonlight shining through a window lighting half the room, finally.

The shaken client springs up, and a black, long-fingered, wrinkled hand fades in from the darkness, snapping her neck when in a wild scream until there is silence. Her feet grow limp, vanishing into darkness, quickly and with one jerk, she’s drugged off by something unknown, evil, and invisible.

Olivia trembles in fear, backing into the dresser. She peeps around the long wooden table, finding the crystal ball cracked with blood oozing. She inches forward, looking into the dark corner, lighting a candle, finally finding the woman’s long, deep, clawed nail prints embedded deeply in the hardwood floor and mingled in blood.

In Dansington, Virginia, inside a dimly lit bedroom, during the wee hours, a beautiful, shy young Melissa, an accountant, mid-’30s, 5ft 11in, 135lb, slender build, blonde with black tip hair, lay tossing and turning. She drifts deep into a dream of making passionate love to her married boss, Jerry Schulster. She moans, frowning in anger, lost in an obsession, when the thought of him slipping away to a new, beautiful co-worker drifts in, causing a nightmare.

Melissa’s satin sheet clings to her hourglass shape as she moves seductively and in a wonton fashion, with sweat beading upon her forehead. She tosses longer, moaning and spreading her lovely, luscious, smooth, thick thighs, continually, until drifting off, silently.

Within minutes, she moans again, moving her hips, viciously. Her dream intensifies with Jerry nibbling at her flesh and easing to her navel with a slow hand, making her feel loved. She whispers his name, moaning more until staring, abruptly, into pure darkness when Jerry vanishes, slowly. She grasps for him with her arms extended, anxiously until dropping to the mattress, lifelessly.

She jumps up with deep rage, springing forward with closed eyes, recapturing Jerry until screaming a disappointing, bone-chilling scream. She jerks, grabbing her fluffy, soft pillow, slinging it, and still screaming angrily until crying. She drifts into a trance, lost in a one-time, drug-induced intimate sex act and being strung along by lies, deceit, and a fairytale of Jerry leaving his family.

Minutes later, her tears subside, and she sits in deep thoughts until her stare becomes stale.

A sudden strong wind in the air-tight sealed room twirls her hair briskly, without notice, leaving her reaching frantically for the phone, dialing, and pressing the phone to her ear.

Back in South Africa, the sun breaks the horizon, barely.

In Dansington, Melissa hangs up and the phone rings. She sits listening, anxiously, until the third ring when looking at the caller ID, finally. Hi, Mommy! Melissa says, sniffing sadly with light, red-tinted eyes.

I know, babe, I know you’re hurting, especially since you can’t have him, but relax; Granny promised the gift of everlasting love, her mother Sadie says, easing Melissa’s pain, carefully.

Melissa sniffs again, cheering up. Oh, Mommy! How can I ever repay you two?

I just want my babe happy, and I think Jerry’s the one, her mother says, deceived into thinking Jerry is just lustful of another single, persistent co-worker, not knowing he’s married.

So what do I have to do? How long do I have to wait? Melissa asks, lifting from the bed, excitedly, in the darkroom, picking up a new, white wedding gown from the chair. She swirls, prancing her beautiful silhouette body against the gown until it clings to her, magically, flowing against her as if wearing it.

Get a pen? You have to do a little leg work because Granny can’t come there.

Melissa releases the gown, and it holds its form, unknowingly, for seconds before falling flat. She scribbles in detail quickly with her back to the dress. Thanks, Mommy! I love you!

Melissa rests the phone against her shoulder, folding the note neatly.

You’re welcome, babe. Granny said, don’t tell the Voodoo Lady your plans; tell her you are shipping it to your Granny, Olivia, early, as part of the 3-year transition, as keepers. She knows Granny well.

Melissa stares crazily in the mirror, sidetracked when blowing childish kisses, obsessively. Got it!

"Don’t forget…, MadUsoul." her mother says, looking back, nervously, fearfully, and anxiously when finding the curtains blowing outward from a closed window.

Ma…, what?

Ma…, du…, her mother says, hesitantly and wide-eyed.

Black, overly extended, decrepit fingers squeak across the window, slowly with sharp nails, screeching, mildly, when a manly silhouette pierces from behind thin, sheer curtains.

Maddu?

No, Maaa…, du…, so…, Sadie says, speaking forcefully with a hand to her mouth. She drifts into shock, mildly, seeing the curtains extending further and growing taller when black, beady eyes protrude through the sheers, instantly dropping the sheers flat against the wall.

Sadie grasps her chest, anxiously, backing, fearfully, with strands of hair floating forward, slowly; some, levitating. Her head jerks continually until slammed backward, and forcefully into sheetrock by an invisible force, leaving a tiny head impression when cracking and crumbling more sheetrock.

Ok! Maduro! Ok, got it!

There is silence for minutes.

Sadie remains unconscious a little longer until her eyes crack open, dizzily, wandering continually when finding several black, manly silhouettes passing the window with more beady eyes peeking inside.

Mommy! Mommy! Melissa yells, hearing her mother’s breathing grow heavier. So, Maduro, I got it; did you hear me?

Sadie stares into sinister eyes in a trance. Her lips move fast, chanting MadUsoul’s name often when her arms extend toward the male figure.

The Evil Spirit flies forward, abruptly.

Her mouth flies open, releasing a scream when the black figure leaps, transforming into a long black swirl with dust vanishing down her throat.

He leaves her speechless with black and glittery residue on her lips and the mouthpiece.

She drops forward heavily, coughing uncontrollably and choking until pausing. She coughs again but heavier and breathless, coming to her knees, slowly. She clenches her throat, and a dark, green slime forms in the corners of her mouth.

Melissa hears MadUsoul’s name whispering softly from behind, instantly, when a black streak shoots from her phone’s mouthpiece. She looks back, expressly, finding the curtains settling around a tall, manly silhouette and falling flat against the wall. Melissa takes a deep breath, sucking in the last of the black streak, choking. She drops the phone, falls forward, and comes to her knees, grabbing her neck and gasping for air.

Sadie stands slowly, staring continuously at the window, when suddenly, the spell breaks. She struggles, grabbing the phone and easing into a chair. Melissa! Melissa! Her mind goes blank but clears soon, with nervousness growing over her pale face excitedly. Melissa! Melissa!

Melissa gags, standing slowly and listening to her mother screaming, mildly. She grasps the bed, knocking over the neatly folded comforter. She grasps the phone, hearing another scream.

Melissa! Melissa!

Yes! Mommy! I’m here; I was choking, she says, quickly, distracted and unknowingly overpowered by the demon inside her. Hey…, I better get going! Melissa loses focus again. Her eyes transition, unknowingly, to black marbles when turning to the mirror, and smiling. She says her goodbye, staring off into space until breaking her concentration. She slowly walks to the bed, reads the note, turns to the vanity, and glides the pen across a notepad, writing MadUsoul’s name rapidly and unconsciously. She drifts more profoundly into a trance, replicating the name over a hundred times and covering several pages in minutes.

Melissa freezes, staring and chanting faster until coming out of the trance, looking lost when the demon flees her. She gathers her thoughts, hangs up the dress, and climbs into bed, rocking lightly until snoring.

Thirty minutes later, in the dusky black corner of Melissa’s room, a dark, manly silhouette slowly materializes with beady eyes piercing through darkness until vanishing.

Melissa’s snoring grows more profoundly.

The Evil Spirit enters her, and her eyes open abruptly, instantly transforming into black, beady marbles. She blinks, and her eyes return to normal, but she keeps them closed, opening them abruptly, as Black Onyx. She stares at the wall, missing the black, stretched forth hands reaching for her and vanishing, instantly, when looking back.

She blinks, and her eyes transition to normal, with pupils reappearing when looking off and over at the clock, noticing it is 3:00 a.m. She lightens off the bed, feeling woozy when her strength returns. She dresses, pinning up her long hair, neatly. She rushes near the dresser, grabbing her keys and the note, rushing for the door when a dark silhouette passes from behind, slowly and unnoticeably.

Thirty minutes later, Melissa enters downtown. She blasts through stop signs, shooting through yellow and red lights. Tires squeal, and she fights the wheel, avoiding oncoming cars when a drunk, male driver honks, screaming, swerving, and riding high on the curve, until bursting a fire hydrant wide-open.

The pissed-off drunk backs down, quickly, honking, foolishly, with his passenger screaming and convincing him to give chase when the car takes a hard turn, fishtailing. The driver comes within inches of Melissa’s bumper swiftly when she increases speed to 50mph in a 25mph limit, distancing him.

Melissa blows through two red lights, moving faster when zooming past a side street, spotting pulsating blue and red lights popping on when a cop car jerks onto the road with sirens blaring.

The drunk immediately sees the officer’s lights, slowing fast and cutting the wheels to the curve, clearing the way. He stops, staring, shockingly and nervously.

The cop car fishtails out and over loose gravel at the corner, giving chase.

Melissa looks through the rearview, coming up to 70mph, making a yellow light, barely.

The officer radios for backup, attempting to read her tags when slamming the gas pedal; tires burning black rubber, wheels squealing louder when closing fast again. He rushes up on the bumper, gazing over quick-changing tag letters and numbers, which scramble faster, instantly.

Melissa slams on the brakes, whipping the wheel hard when staring down another side street.

The officer swings out, missing her, and comes eye-to-eye with her monstrous face and another monstrous face into the back, driver’s side window until losing sight of the one in the back when Melissa looks away. He swerves out, missing another car, overshooting the turn. He brakes quickly, squealing tires in reverse, leaving black rubber and a light trail of smoke when stopping in a head jerking motion.

The cop’s tires reverse, transparently, backing down fast. He misses another car that swerves, missing him when fighting the wheel fast and missing yet another car turning down the same street.

Melissa floors it, turning down another side street. She picks up speed, swerving, and missing a surprising couple stepping off and back onto the curb, quickly with bright, startling eyes. She picks up more speed, rushing through a construction zone, and slows when spotting another cruiser with blue lights flashing on the other side of the heavily blocked barrier ahead and dead end.

Evil rages when transforming, slightly and unknowingly. Melissa swerves alongside the curb, stopping when making eye contact with the other officer, who squints, reading her tags which are still scrambling.

The chase cruiser’s siren grows louder when bright, blue and red lights appear, approaching fast from the rear until almost bumper to bumper. The chase officer gazes at the tags, calling out a few visible letters to the dispatcher, when swinging the door open with his foot. He springs forward with his handgun drawn, training it down when approaching quickly, and looking in the back seat, finding it empty.

Melissa throws the car in park, rising and grabbing a handful of nylon panties, ripping them off. Her window rolls down fast, and her hand shoots out, shaking the colorful panties with a loud outburst of drunken, playfully, and childish slurs.

The officer approaches, nervously, looking at her beautiful face, then the other officer until in a double-take, staring at the panties; drawn into a trance, instantly, until breaking free of the feeling. License and registration! License and registration, now! he screams.

His mean stare transforms into a settled stare, gazing into lovely, mesmerizing eyes, when drawn under a spell again from the blackness of her pupils. He grows tense, barely able to break the stare when dropping his eyes to her thick, golden, tanned thighs. He follows her seductive hand in a trance, moving to her upper thigh, towering twins, and back to her beautiful face, slowly. He stares longer until breaking his concentration when the other officer keys up, distorting the demonic sound waves and breaking the trance.

License and registration! License and registration, now! He drops back into a trance, immediately, leaning further inside, looking at her thick, creamy thighs as they spread slowly, keeping him mesmerized until taking a deep swallow and sweating, instantly.

Oh, ok, you’re no fun! She unbuckles, leaning toward the glove box, overly stretching and making her dress ride high when a breeze blows through, blowing a few things around, and rushing, expressly, across smooth cheeks.

The assisting officer sits looking through construction gear and heavy, wind-waving banners, continually, for a path to veer through while focusing, stealthily, on the other officer. He pulls out his walkie-talkie, holding it in anticipation of a transmission when reaching for the door’s handle, pulling, but it doesn’t engage, so he pulls harder until the handle disengages.

Melissa drops down with her dress rolling up to her hips when the officer eases his gun in his holster.

The chase officer presses his shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie and freezes, finding her eyes pink then bright red when looking uneasily again, and finding her eyes black, glossy, and beady when her face transforms from beauty, to old and wrinkly, then pure evil in a split second. He jerks back fearfully, regaining his composure and doing a double-take, unsure. He reaches for the documents, and she inches it back, playfully and slowly, when he takes a step forward, reaching with a stern face. His eyes drop between her thighs when her hand lunges forward, transparently, snatching him in the collar.

Melissa’s body transforms slightly, and her demonic, manly muscular arm tightens when she pulls him closer, jerking his body. She snatches with brute strength, slamming his head into the metal frame, continually, until his body is halfway limp and inside. She draws back, quickly, with a balled-tight fist, knocking him out. She releases him, clinching his Adam’s apple again, crushing it; eye to eye with bushy eyes, listening excitedly, to smaller bones cracking in an evil-induced smile.

The assisting officer reaches for the door handle again, pulling, but it doesn’t engage, so he pulls harder, rising high, looking past the tall construction beams, blocking his view. He throws the car into reverse, finally backing down fast, with tires squealing.

The distressed officer’s limp body kicks and jerks, until finally letting off a scream that’s cut short, but echoing when she grasps tighter. He reaches for his firearm, and her other hand slams onto the butt and holds it when he begins fighting to unleash the weapon.

The assisting officer finds something red gushing from the officer’s neck when his bloody body jerks backward, airborne with feet high until slamming and sliding, expressly, onto and across the pavement and into a wall.

The assisting officer lets out a blood-curdling scream, staring at Melissa’s manly configuring face. He reaches for his walkie-talkie, anxiously, gagging continually when looking back over at the mangled officer, when fighting for the doors dangling handle again.

Melissa’s hand goes forward with eyes transitioning from black to gold. She points to the assisting officer when his doors lock simultaneously and all electronics shut down.

The assisting officer reaches, nervously, for the door handle again, pulling harder, and with one last yank, the handle breaks off. He reaches for his gun, expressly, tugging but unable to free it when watching the suspect’s car wheel turn, slightly. He looks at the other officer instantly, when puking against the driver’s side window and screaming.

Melissa’s tires squeal, swerving out, and turning then slamming on brakes, stopping. Rubber burns, and smoke rises high, instantly, when backing down, past the chase cruiser through a light trail of black smoke. She stops at the corner, with tires squealing, looking both ways when backing onto the main road, whipping the steering wheel in one direction. She springs forward, plunging into oncoming traffic and merging into milder traffic. She increases speed, spotting another cop car then another unmarked car with flashing blue and red lights a block away; both closing fast until turning at a green light.

She reaches the main fairway, turning on the radio, when slowing for a red light.

The radio changes to an R&B station instantly, switching to the gospel and blaring. The radio goes haywire with voices chanting and whispering MadUsoul’s name several times before fading. She pulls off fast, seeing the other driver’s view of the stoplight turning red when the other driver slams on brakes in the middle of the intersection. She slams on brakes, spotting an ambulance shooting out; no sirens or lights until both energize inches from her front bumper, finally.

Melissa stares through the rearview mirror, and the radio changes to country music, automatically. Her head begins rocking in rhythm, when sitting in a trance until speeding off, missing another car, barely, when running a red light with a sudden, steady set of horns blaring.

Minutes later, she slows, listening to the weather broadcast of beautiful weather with a zero chance of rain. The pleasant forecast is interrupted by more whispers, mild chants and subliminal messages until blurting out MadUsoul several times, then fading. She swerves onto a side street, pulling over, almost out of energy. She fumbles for the address, entering it into her GPS, quickly.

Melissa listens for directions, skidding wheels and swerving, slightly into oncoming traffic then back in her lane. She passes expressly through Chinatown, turning off where the scenery grows dark and grim. She looks over several addresses, listening when the GPS blurts out her destination under a dim streetlight. She pulls over, cutting off the headlights, observing the scenery momentarily, then sits a spell longer, looking at trash blowing heavily down the sidewalk and streets.

She jerks, staring in the mirror, seeing her bloody face, and finally, reaching for window cleaner and paper towels, cleaning up. After gazing over several burned-out marquees she cuts her eyes down a long dark alley.

She leans, easing the door open, slowly. She climbs out with her back against the door, gazing in fear when locking the doors and activating the security alarm.

Her eyes transition to normal when backing up, noticing the clear sky. She takes two steps, turning again, and finds a thick, black sky from afar, when transitioning, slightly, to evil again.

A torrential downpour comes with great force, without warning, dropping golf ball size hailstones. She becomes drenched, instantly beaten about the body a few good whacks when taking off in a jog. She takes cover, quickly, making her way down the long, dreadful alley, staring back, continually, and looking forward, expressly, at each busted marquee she passes when picking up speed, swiftly. She stumbles, taking cover against the gale-force winds when stopping, looking around.

Out of nowhere, a hand grasps her shoulder, tightly.

Ahh! she screams, swinging when kneeing a homeless man, and dropping him to his knees in excruciating pain.

Oh…, ho, ho, ho! he screams, grabbing his family jewels lightly in even more excruciating pain when dropping to his knees on brittle rocks. Oh…, ho, ho, ho…, no…, ho, ho, ho!

Oh, sir, I’m so sorry! Melissa yells over the strong winds, reaching and helping him up.

They lean back, blown lightly against the wall by a sudden gust of wind. Melissa and the homeless man sway, slightly bumping into each other a few times.

Excuse me, sir, Madam Mazelta? Madam Mazelta Michona? She yells over solid and forceful winds, staring deep into weak, red, bloodshot eyes when his heavy liquored, stale breath rises and she backs away, frowning. She turns, quickly, with surprising eyes, drifting, down to broad, open, and begging hands. She reaches inside her purse with a few dollars blowing out when removing a crinkled ten-dollar bill, and looking at him, nervously. Madam Mazelta? Madam Mazelta Michona?

He grabs the money, nodding, pointing, and motioning her to the far corner.

Thank you! she says, listening to the winds picking up. She pokes her head out with pin-stinging rain against her face when her expression transforms into a monstrous, worn-down stare.

Having run for some time now, she stops at each indentation, looking back from time to time, until at the last indentation. She spots the homeless man snuggled in a corner, pulling a tarp over his head. She sticks her head out again at the next corner, shielding her face. Her eyes pierce through the darkness when a fierce bolt of high-riding lightning flows down from high in the sky and through the long, narrow alley.

A loud burst follows, taking out a transformer and marquee, leaving wires sparking and some on fire.

Melissa sticks her head out again with eyes piercing through the darkness when back-to-back bolts of lightning shoot through the alley like a massive pyrotechnic show. She waits longer for the winds to die off then peeks out minutes later, finding more lightning bolts until rocking slightly and timing them. On the fifth lean, she sprints for the next bend in the shabby, grim architecture when a bolt shoots past her head. She drops low-crawling into a corner with frightening eyes.

After the last magnificent bolt, the greatest ever lights up the alley for seconds, she sprints for another corner, missed barely. She slips, skinning her knee when shooting up, swiftly. She spots the unfamiliar, worn-out symbol scribbled on the glass, taking off in a mad dash and slowing when covered by a worn-down awning. She creeps to the window, peeking and finds the shop pitch black. Melissa’s cold, black eyes glaze over unclear things in the window, which materialize clearly when the sky instantly turns a pretty light-blue. Her beady eyes wander until spotting a candlelight floating through the darkroom.

A short feminine figure stops to light another candle, then another, advancing when the room comes to life, and Melissa spots the little old lady approaching.

Melissa’s eyes wander upward to the dark, burned-out marquee, slowly scrolling over the busted palm reading symbol when her soft hands grasp the knob, turning and easing the door open with the mounted, rusty, brass bell sounding off, loudly.

Hi, Dear! Come on in; I’m sorry for not having lights; but they just went out, but that does not stop Madam Mazelta Michona from her works. The frail, 4ft, 70 or 75 years old, scarf-wearing, grey-head woman turns, leading Melissa down the middle aisle of the building.

Melissa’s energy drains back into her body slowly when stopping and looking around half-dazed.

The old lady freezes in her tracks, noticing a tall, dark shadow creeping along the back wall. She steps forward a few paces, taking a few steps back, noticing another dark figure on another wall and fading toward the back. She remains still, listening, fearfully and attentively, until advancing, slowly with eyes dead set on the coo-coo clock which chimes, usually loud. A loud gong follows, and the clock goes fast and quiets, then goes bazookas. It stops abruptly, with the second hand frozen in time, and the coo-coo bird stuck outside the house with a broken neck.

Excuse me, but what is this place? Melissa asks, looking around nervously and holding out her hand slowly, when feeling weak. She looks at her hands and arms, again, as if they are foreign objects.

This is my place, Madam Mazelta Michona’s place. Are you alright, child? the Madam looks nervously, for the shadows, turning to Melissa, stealthily, with even more curious eyes.

Oh, oh, Madam Mazelta Michona, ok, but how did I get here? Melissa asks, slowly, appearing to be under some illegal substance and more confused.

Excuse me? Girl, are you doped up, on meth, crack, or something worse? She examines Melissa, fanning her face lightly and sniffing. She stops with eyes over her shoulder, curiously, when hearing something ravaging like mice then robbers in the back. She looks over her other shoulder, missing another shadow, barely, when it shoots past, fast.

Oh, no, ma’am, Melissa says, finally reaching in her purse for the note, and passing it, nervously.

The old lady walks over to a candle wall sconce, slipping on the eyeglasses dangling from a dingy lanyard around her neck. She squints, turning slowly to Melissa and embracing her. Melissa, right, so how is my Olivia? She steps back, getting a better look, when leaning, suddenly, kissing Melissa’s cool cheek and grabbing her arm, leading her to the far side of the room.

The old lady stands, chatting it up for minutes. She tells Melissa how, when living in London, she and her grandmother became best friends. Her story goes on until looking down at the note again, cautiously and trying to make out the frail letters when her hands shoot straight to her chest in utter fear. She backs away from Melissa, swiftly. "Ahh, what is this? The MadUsoul? The MadUsoul? Surely this is a mistake, child! Tell me, what do you want with the MadUsoul? Please tell me! I ask of you! No…, I beg of you!" she yells, speaking in a rather nasty tone when grabbing Melissa’s hand again.

Melissa snatches back. My grandmother wants it, she hesitates. She said it’s time for the transition!

What? This request is mad, mon (man)! Mad, I tell you! Your grandmother would not dare ask for this, ting (thing) before her time! Give me her number; surely this is pure evil…, something demonic!

Melissa tries remembering numbers, nervously when her mind drifts to Jerry, intentionally. No, it is right…, it is; just name your price, anything, I must have it! she says, becoming frightened when her voice begins to sound more like mumbling nonsense.

Price? Surely this is not from Livey! It is not for sale, ever and Livey knows this! Please, my child, trust me! You don’t want this bad luck on you! So tell me what you need, and Madam Mazelta Michona will get you on the right track. Please! Please! Trust me, dear!

Melissa thinks hard until tears come, spilling her guts about Jerry, but not mentioning he’s married.

Aww…, my dear…, Madam Mazelta Michona senses someone is deeply love-struck! she says, in a calm stare when explaining the scepter’s differences, playfully, with a firmer stare, which melts into a smile when staring into Melissa’s teary eyes. She leans forward, embracing her tighter until Melissa’s sniffling stops. See, you have to trust me, dear. Surely you’ve asked for the wrong thing; it is the Lietho you need for pure love. Trust me…, you will have this man eating out of your hands, instantly! The old lady mischievously smiles, growing into a relaxing mood.

"Maybe, but I must have the MadUsoul as well, as my grandmother requested for the transition!" Melissa says, thinking the other would not keep a lifetime spell on Jerry.

Ok, you! You…, you…, you give me Olivia’s number, and I will call and get this straight for your good! she screams angrily until vaguely remembering where she put the number. Oh yes, hmm, yes, yes, I have…, I have! She turns scrolling, expressly, through dusty index cards, when easing her glasses off and on until dialing.

Back in Africa, a phone rings when sun rays begin warming Olivia’s dim, sun-lit room.

The persistent ringing stops and bolder sun rays pour in but at an angle, working its way up the bottom of worn-out, running, nylon stocking, slowly.

The rays come up over the feet and onto long, brittle, sharp toenails poking out. The sun light brightens more, moving up wobbly legs, trembling thighs, working hips, and a thin cotton gown, slowly. The ringing continues again but is more extended, then stops.

The sun rays slow at her breast, finally easing onto Olivia’s face as she lay paralyzed, and trembling with hands clenching both sides of the worn down, full-size, tightly curled up, banana boat-looking mattress. A stream of blood gushes from her nose, instantly; blood splattering and soaking the pillow with a puddle forming around her head and neck. She blinks, continually staring at the ceiling with eyes growing wider and transitioning slowly to the dark corner, spotting a half-nude, boney, feeble, yet masculine, dark figure.

The evil, demonic-looking figure eases out of the pure darkness, looking back at her when climbing the wall, slowly, making screeching moderate to loud sounds. The demon’s scary, deformed figure jerks with its head turning three hundred and sixty degrees until staring back with totally blackened and glistening eyes. Its long toenails and fingernails sink deep into the sheetrock, leaving large indentations and black smears when maneuvering higher, deliberately.

Meanwhile, in the States, Madam Mazelta waits a little longer, redialing. She turns from Melissa slightly, cutting her eyes back over at her, curiously.

In Africa, a teardrop falls on both sides of Olivia’s face. She blinks rapidly with more blood flowing when her head sinks, slowly into the pillow when the phone sounds off, ringing loud again. Her body jerks fast, with legs kicking, frantically, when blood rises to her clenched, rosy cheeks. She covers her eyes quickly, and her face frowns with her mouth moving without sound, swiftly.

The demon’s toenails and fingernails clench the wall tighter. It releases one hand, slowly, staring, pointing, and drawing a demonic symbol in midair with its long-crooked finger when the symbol lingers, slowly, like a thin trail of smoke until blown. Its evil eyes transition from fiery red to cold, pointy, and black when Olivia’s eyes lock with the demon, and it blinks. It balls its hand, instantly; its veiny fist dashing forward, quickly, releasing a black smoke that blasts through the stale, already air-ridden symbol when Olivia lets off a loud, murderous scream, gargling and drowning in her blood.

Olivia kicks one last time, and the room silences. Her body grows limp then drops, lifelessly.

The demon freezes, staring curiously and swaying its head when drawing another symbol similar to the first. It dashes its balled fist tightly forward, and Olivia’s body lunges backward, vanishing through the blood-stained pillow and leaving a black yet gaping bloody hole.

In the States, Madam Mazelta listens to the ringing and noise coming from the back room longer. She trains her head to one side hastily when a shadow streak out, missing it.

Ok, ok, maybe she is out early..., maybe, shopping in the market. So, listen, I will give you the Lietho, and you hold on to it until later when I talk to Livey! She opens a showcase of many scepters, and Melissa gazes over several eye-catching bright, gold, and glittery pieces.

A deep voice whispers Melissa’s name, and she drops into a seizure, throwing her instantly into a trance when her hands tremble, and her mouth foams heavily, without Madam Mazelta noticing.

Here, here, the Lietho! exclaims Madame Mazelta with enthusiasm. She turns, handing Melissa the beautiful, glittery scepter, slowly and delicately. She turns it over quickly, without making eye contact, revealing the detailed instructions. You’ll see the magical love potion working in no time, my dear. Madam Mazelta says, smiling when turning and looking for wrapping paper then its decorative wooden case.

The dim, emergency lighting pops on, flickering for seconds, finally.

How much? Melissa says, reaching for her purse when a vicious demon leaps forward, vanishing into Melissa and weakening her. She lunges forward into the glass case, rocking it and almost overturning the fragile glass case.

Madam Mazelta jerks with bright white eyes.

Melissa’s eyes turn pitch black, and she drops back, instantly.

Another demon lets off a loud squeal, running fast until almost invisible.

Madam Mazelta jumps, freezing in total fear when looking back, slowly, and listening. "For a granddaughter of Olivia, $5,000 US dollars; anyone else, $25,000 US.

Noooo! Nooo! the demonic, manly voices scream, vibrating the room when several faces transform fully through Melissa’s face. Thunderous voices shatter the scepter’s glass and a few other glass cases. "The MadUsoul! The MadUsoul!"

The demons return Melissa to normal and then transform her into pure evil when their thunderous screams shake more objects, causing ceiling tiles to crack, sheetrock to burst, and the lights to grow dimmer, with violent sparks shooting out.

Madam Mazelta’s eyes spread wide, fearfully. Her body stays, leaning back with trembling hands behind her back when easing a vile of transparent, silver liquid open, secretly. She looks back, quickly staring into her magical mirror, witnessing Melissa’s face transitioning into multiple demonic faces, when turning and dashing the mystical acid forward.

Melissa’s body duck, and the fully emerged, transformed demonic body springs up, swinging with brute force and screaming.

The building shakes as if in an earthquake.

The demon’s fist swings stealthily, plowing through a few tall, marble-like statues, missing Madam Mazelta’s head, barely, and by inches, when she drops low, ducking. Its veiny hands extend past the counter with brute strength, snatching her up by the collar and pulling her in fast, within inches of its horrific face. It freezes, eye-to-eye with heavy, rough, lousy breath against her frail, wrinkled face, screaming with fiery eyes. "The MadUsoul! The MadUsoul!"

Madam Mazelta gags, frowning and fanning its monstrous, lousy breath when it screams, roaring and lunging her frail body into the wall, breaking valuable items before tearing down more sheetrock.

The demon transforms into a more horrific presence, growing fiercer, and flexing. The demon rises more muscular, ripping Melissa’s clothing, when growing broader, standing still, and staring as if confused.

Melissa’s transfigured body takes off abruptly and without warning. She rushes around, snatching Madam Mazelta up by the collar again, backhanding her, and knocking her through several racks of merchandise. "The MadUsoul! The MadUsoul!" the demon screams with fiery, black glittery eyes.

The manly demon rushes forward, expressly, leaning over the counter, finding Madam Mazelta face down. He watches her low crawl, barely, when rushing up, stepping on her back with elongated feet, protruding through stretched shoes when listening to her bones snap. He screams louder, vibrating the room again and making more merchandise fall and shatter. It stops, looking through its peripheral vision, instantly, with eyes wandering about the big glass window, finding the nosy homeless man peeking. It stares with eyes transforming into a bright fire when screaming with a thunderous cry bellowing. Its tight fist lunges forward across its body, tense when flinging the Lietho, breaking the window, and stabbing the man in his side as he turns, lunging.

The dazed, homeless man falls backward in a twist, letting off a muffled scream. He stumbles a few feet back, falling into the wall and then onto the ground, letting out a painstaking scream.

The demon’s head turns as if about to snap off when looking down on Madam Mazelta, who is low-crawling in agonizing pain. Its foot comes up high, jumping and stomping Madam Mazelta’s wobbly legs, continually, until another loud snap comes.

Madam Mazelta emits a resounding scream of unbearable pain, moaning continually and falling limp.

The demon’s black, beady eye scrolls over the showcase, advancing and breaking more glass with a tight fist.

Other demonic Soldiers flow into the main room with beady eyes wandering over more showcases until finally laying eyes on the MadUsoul, in a force shield protected glass case.

One demon rushes up with a stealth fist plunging it into the glass, screaming when disintegrating and turning into black dust. Another sprint into the room, replicating the same movement; launching and diving toward the glass; still sailing through the air when slapped, senselessly against the wall with Melissa’s hand retracting, slowly, when the demon inside her roars; trembling the building again.

The demon’s beady eyes scroll over the room past the MadUsoul, wandering slowly about the case until recognizing the low-level electrical current protecting the scepter, finally. It looks around, finding a key hanging off to the side when its veiny hand grasps the key, trying to unlock the extra thick glass case with the key that doesn’t fit when it screams, throwing the oversized key down.

It looks over more objects, feverishly, with its eyes deadlocked on a magical wand, grabbing it with eyes roving over it when backing away, slowly. It lets off a loud, frightening scream, rushing upon the case, swinging the magical wand, emitting rays of light-blue electricity, and smashing the glass. It leans through crushed glass, grasping the MadUsoul, stealthily. Its beady eyes wander, catching a glimpse of small, fast-growing flames near the back when a demon shoots out.

Melissa halfway transitions to normal, dashing out through the front door in shredded clothes. She leaps high, jumping over the homeless man when the man screams then leaps up in fear, screaming and cringing with eyes shut tight.

He opens his eyes quickly, following the shredded material flowing in the wind and the dark blue shadow. He sits with his back against the concrete wall, easing the bloody Lietho from his rib cage, dropping it, with metal clinging and feeling weak. He drops back, falling into the wall in a sigh with more tears.

The other ten demons exit the building, quickly with the last demon stopping, at the door, looking and staring down at the homeless man before rushing off, running, leaping, and turning into a black swirl.

Melissa transforms to normal on the straightway, fully. She dashes around the corner through the dark alley, rushing to her car, jumping in, and speeding off.

The homeless man sits longer, weeping in more profound pain for minutes.

Suddenly, the homeless man struggles to his feet, hearing Madam Mazelta’s second and third screams then cry. He braces against the wall, mustering up more strength, when leaning into the wall longer. He lunges for the door, bursting through it. He stares over the room, looking for her when rushing toward the closet, knee-high flame. He grabs a cool quilt from the couch, diving for the flames, smothering it before moving to smaller flames. He staggers to the back, grasping his bloody side, finding Madam Mazelta rolling over with ragdoll legs and a deeply pained face.

Melissa scurries through back roads, on the outskirts of the city streets. She turns down a side street, leading to the highway, finding traffic stopped when easing behind the last car when it stops. She leans out the window, checking the traffic’s movement, and watching a car clear the checkpoint, finally, then rounds the curve, staring into a string of flashing blue and red lights.

Melissa tunes the radio to a favorite station, rocking anxiously when suddenly the radio changes to a dreary-sounding song that scans fast across the entire frequency spectrum until sounding ominous. She squints, notices bloodstains on the dash when reaching for paper towels, cleaning up, and hiding the towels, quickly. Her eyes wander over her shredded clothes, manipulating the shreds to look somewhat presentable. She pulls up, spotting an officer waving another car ahead when moving forward.

The officer looks up at the street light, which changes to a fluorescent color, not giving it much thought, when the tint of her car changes, automatically and