“Good evening, patriots!”

  Studio lights flare to life, flooding the stage as the crowd roars. A new anchor strides into frame, grin wide, arms spread like a preacher at the pulpit.

  “Thank you—thank you all for tuning in. I’m Chad Patriot, and this is The Raccoon Report!”

  He lets the applause roll, basking in it with both hands raised like a man who owns the room.

  “Tonight—huge guest,” he announces, voice booming. “His first public words since the dragon attack. Give it up for Sheriff Marlion Freeman of the Alien Department!”

  The audience erupts again as Marlion marches onto the stage and takes his seat. He leans toward the mic with a practiced, politician’s smile.

  “Glad to be here, Mr. Patriot,” he says, voice steady, calculated.

  “Of course, Sheriff.” Chad clasps his hand with theatrical warmth, grinning for the cameras. “Always good to give the people the truth—and maybe just a little extra. So… you’ve tracked down the demon, haven’t you?”

  Marlion nods, his tone low but certain. “Matter of fact, I have. Out in Superior National Forest. Found a wooden house tucked away.”

  Chad’s brows shoot up. He turns to the camera, shaking his head in mock solemnity. “Superior, you say? Folks, isn’t that something? Terrible to think anything out there could believe it’s superior… to America.”

  Marlion leans back, flashing that easy grin again. “Yeah—America’s the best place in every world. Am I right?”

  The crowd explodes, whistles and cheers rattling the studio walls. Chad lifts a hand like a ringmaster, riding the noise.

  “Well, Sheriff, I wish you the best of luck on your mission in Ely. We need people like you to keep this world safe.”

  Applause swells once more as Marlion stands, waves for the cameras, and strides offstage.

  Outside, the noise fades to nothing. He slips into his car, the cheer still echoing in his head. For a moment, his smile falters. He thinks of his daughter, breath catching in his throat, and sighs.

  The key turns; the engine rumbles. Headlights sweep across the wet pavement as he pulls away, steering toward the tallest steeple in town—the Church of the Rapture.

  “Oh, Marlion,” the priest says, adjusting his black button-up and crisp white collar. “What brings you here today?”

  He pours a glass of wine and slides it across the table, the liquid catching the dim light like blood in a chalice. “Let’s keep this one between us.”

  Marlion takes a slow sip, staring into the red surface before speaking. “I was thinking about that dragon slayer. My daughter works with him. And sometimes… I wonder if I’m really doing the right thing.”

  The priest twirls his own glass, voice calm and steady. “You’re working for Jesus, Marlion. That means you’re on the right side. Why trouble yourself with doubts?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Marlion says, shoulders slumping. “But I feel like Alexia and I are farther apart every day. The longer this goes on, the more I wish we could just be a family again. I came here hoping the word of God would set me straight… maybe even take away the weight of my doubt.”

  The priest leans forward, eyes gleaming behind his round glasses. “The message is simple,” he says. “Readiness. A relationship with Jesus. Righteous living. That’s what prepares us for the moment believers are taken to heaven.”

  He lowers his voice, almost reverent. “We’ll bring the dragon back, and when that happens, God will take us all into heaven. The rapture will be complete.”

  Marlion nods slowly, conviction creeping back into his voice. “You’re right. That demon in Superior won’t last the night.”

  The priest smiles faintly, lifting his glass. “Amen to that.”

  Marlion finishes his drink, sets it down, and stands. “Thank you, Father. I needed that.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He leaves the church, his footsteps echoing through the empty nave, the priest’s words still coiling in his mind.

  Along the walls hang framed photos of successful operations — aliens cuffed, creatures slain, civilians applauding.

  Marlion strides across the cracked pavement, his boots heavy with purpose. Two officers snap to attention as he approaches, the weight of his presence unmistakable.

  “I need you both,” Marlion says, his voice low but commanding. “We have a mission tonight.”

  The men exchange a sharp nod, smacking their palms together in a wordless pact. With practiced precision, they arm themselves — hands tightening around their rifles before sliding into the waiting vehicles.

  Engines roar to life, headlights slicing through the dark as the convoy speeds toward Superior National Forest.

  By the time they reach the ranger station at the edge of the woods, the air has turned thick — heavy with the scent of damp earth and something unnatural. The door looms ahead, shut tight against the night

  The officers stack up on either side, backs pressed to the rough wooden wall. Marlion raises a hand, gives a single nod.

  The door splinters under their charge.

  “Armed unit!” one officer shouts. “We’re coming in hot!”

  The stench hits first. Then the sight — dozens of slick green shapes leaping through the gloom, eyes shining like wet coins in the sweep of flashlights. Frogs scatter, croaking frantically.

  A shadow moves in the corner. A man steps forward, clutching a glowing Mahoishi in his trembling hand.

  “Stay back!” he yells, his voice cracking under the weight of fear.

  The officers raise their rifles.

  Muzzles flash. The room erupts in thunder. Bullets tear into Aruku’s chest, driving him to the floor in a spray of shattered light and dust.

  The Mahoishi rolls from his fingers, pulsing weakly as the last of his life drains away.

  Then the lights die — plunging the room into black.

  Aruku’s final breath rattles through the silence before it swallows him whole.

  From the shadows, something moves.

  A figure uncoils from the darkness — pale eyes glinting like lanterns.

  “We knew you’d come back,” Ange whispers, her voice a mix of tenderness and venom. “He risked his life just to be with me. He wouldn’t hide from his daughter… like you do.”

  Marlion fires.

  Muzzle flashes tear at the dark, but the bullets never find their mark. It’s as if the young Satori has already read the path of every shot, plucking them from the air with unseen hands.

  The door behind the officers slams shut with a thunderclap. Dust shakes loose from the rafters.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Ange hisses, a cruel smile flickering in the glow of the dying Mahoishi. Her voice curls like smoke. “How cute… you were about to say that to me.”

  She moves faster than the light can catch her. One of the guards cries out as she twists his arm behind his back, bending him low like a broken marionette.

  Marlion raises his gun, hands trembling, and fires.

  The shot cracks through the dark—

  —but Ange is already gone. The bullet slams into the guard’s side instead. His scream rips through the silence as blood splatters across the floor.

  “Missed me,” she whispers. “But not him.”

  The other guard claws at the door, rattling the handle until his knuckles go white.

  “Force it, James! Please!” Marlion barks, panic fraying his voice. “We need to get out of here!”

  No matter how hard James shoves, the door doesn’t budge. The room seems to breathe around them — tight, hot, alive with waiting.

  Ange slips from the dark again, her silhouette wreathed in flickering red light. She kneels, plucks the pistol from a fallen soldier, and straightens.

  One shot. The air splits.

  James drops, legs folding beneath him as blood blooms across the floorboards.

  Another shot — and Marlion staggers back, clutching his thigh as pain rips a howl from his throat.

  “You’ve taken everything from me,” Ange spits, each word a knife. “You killed my husband.”

  Gasping, Marlion drags his pistol up with his good hand, finger trembling on the trigger. Before he can aim, Ange’s final bullet tears through his wrist. The gun clatters from his grip, spinning across the blood-slick floor.

  She steps closer and kicks it away. Her shadow falls over him like a closing coffin.

  “Don’t worry,” she says, her voice thin and hard. “I’m not going to make it quick. I want you to watch them rot.”

  She leans in so close that the rain on the window looks like a sheet of glass between them.

  “What was your daughter’s name?” she whispers. “Alexia, wasn’t it?” She lets the name hang in the air, tasting it. “Shame — I was hoping for more panic. It’s almost like you don’t care.”

  She straightens. The theater of menace collapses into exhausted cruelty. Ange turns toward Aruku’s body and drops to her knees. The fury drains from her, bleeding into the first raw grief of the night.

  With a snap of her fingers, the floor gives way — an old trapdoor that hadn’t revealed itself until now. Darkness yawns beneath them. The room tilts; metal clamps and cold stone swallow the light as the three of them plunge into the dungeon below.

  “Rot down there,” Ange murmurs, her voice raw. “When I’m done with Ely, maybe then you’ll understand.”

  She presses her forehead to Aruku’s still chest, whispering his name while, below, her enemies scream into the dark.