Maya felt like she might collapse from the shock.

  How could vibrant, bright Sophia... why did she never say a word? Maya couldn’t make sense of it.

  The day after Sophia’s funeral, Maya returned home, grief still raw, to find a piece of mail addressed to her—sent by Sophia herself.

  It was a scheduled, dated delivery—so Sophia had sent it before she died.

  Trembling, Maya opened the letter. Inside was a note in Sophia’s handwriting:

  “Ezekiel has been conducting human experiments and has killed dozens of children. He’s been drugging me since middle school—I can’t live anymore. They’ll come for you too, Maya.”

  Also enclosed were an old-fashioned key and a memo written in English and numbers.

  (Should I call the police now? But what’s the proof? They said there’s no evidence of foul play... What’s happening?) Maya trembled as she stepped into the house.

  It was 6?p.m., and Ezekiel wouldn’t be home until around 8. She still had time.

  She tried the key in Ezekiel’s bedroom lock—no fit. There had to be another, older lock... somewhere he had hidden it. The basement?

  She inserted the key into the basement door’s lock and turned it. The door creaked open, revealing stairs descending into darkness.

  (What’s down there?) she swallowed hard, her fear coiling in her gut as she descended.

  In the basement was a large-screen monitor and a computer. Maya powered it on. A password prompt appeared.

  (Could it be…?) Steeling herself, she typed the combination of letters and numbers Sophia had given her. The lock disengaged—her heart pounded.

  There was a folder named “Videos.” She tried to open it using the same password. Nothing—an alert tone sounded:

  “Two attempts remaining. Further failed entries will trigger a hacking lockout.”

  Her pulse racing, she typed Sophia’s name and birthdate.

  It unlocked. Inside was a folder labeled “Sophia,” alongside folders of other girls known to Maya—girls from the cult.

  Her fingers shook violently.

  (I don’t want to see this…but I can’t waste Sophia’s final effort.) Maya barely held her breath as she opened the folder.

  She sank to her knees, overcome. Tears streamed down her face. She stifled a wave of nausea.

  (Father used his position as cult leader to brainwash—and feed on—these children…!)

  Hands trembling, she shut down the computer and fled upstairs, locking the basement door behind her. She drew a deep breath.

  Then a voice behind her:

  “You’ve seen it, haven’t you, Maya?”

  It was Ezekiel.

  He stood there with a thin, dark smile. Maya could only stammer.

  Ezekiel looked at her, eyes glittering with cruel satisfaction.

  “Quite the remarkable footage, wasn’t it?” he said softly.

  (Remarkable? What does he mean by that?) Maya thought, baffled.

  “Did you hear them? The children of God, those devout believers—shrieking with joy as they offered themselves to me?”

  (He’s justifying atrocity!) Maya connected the truth all at once.

  He approached in a slow, deliberate drag:

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Maya,” he purred, “I married your mother and took you in as my daughter so I could bring you into God’s love through my own flesh. Look how beautifully you’ve grown.”

  Horror made her vomit uncontrollably.

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a two-meter leather whip.

  Before she could react, he lashed it across her bare leg under her uniform.

  Pain unlike anything she’d ever known exploded through her—flesh tearing. She collapsed onto one knee.

  “Why…why are you doing this?” she sobbed, tears streaming down.

  He drew back and brought the whip down again in a savage arc across her shoulder, back, and hip.

  She blacked out and fell face-first, unconscious.

  Maya’s last embedded thought: she was bound and strangled—until she passed out from asphyxiation.

  The last thing she saw was his eyes: clear, predatory, filled with perverse desire.

  (Mom... he killed you. Sophia too... I failed you both. I’m so sorry…) A final tear slid down her cheek as her oxygen-starved mind darkened.

  Ezekiel confirmed her death, wrapped her body in a sheet, and buried it in the garden before filing a missing-person report.

  That was two weeks ago.

  Maya stood before Ezekiel once more.

  Ezekiel sighed and put on a calm, almost regretful expression.

  “Maya,” he said softly, “I truly am sorry for choking you. I thought that through constricting your neck, God’s love would flow more clearly through you. You are special—chosen.”

  He motioned toward the closet.

  (What is he planning now?) Maya asked herself, alert and cautious.

  He opened the closet swiftly and retrieved the whip again.

  “Now comes your punishment. God speaks through the body. You must prove that I am His chosen vessel.”

  The whip cracked through the air—lightning fast.

  Maya back-stepped instinctively.

  Ezekiel froze—no one had ever dodged his whip before.

  She turned and sprinted into the living room, aiming to limit his use of the weapon.

  (I can feel something—power stirring inside me.) Her body warmed as she ran.

  Ezekiel closed the distance, whip raised—but Maya seized a wooden chair, swung it, and smashed it into his face.

  It shattered his nose in a brutal crack; blood sprayed as he staggered back.

  “Y?you’ll pay… I’ll break you… drive you insane…” Ezekiel snarled through dripping blood.

  But Maya remained calm. Whip slicing through the air again.

  In that moment, a flash of memory: her mother’s water being drugged by Ezekiel.

  (Thank you, Mom. Your death was his doing—and I will avenge you.)

  Her icy blue eyes lit up. Time slowed. She caught the whip’s tip mid-air. She yanked it toward herself—and Ezekiel fell off balance.

  She moved behind him, wrapped the whip around his neck, tightening.

  He panicked, fumbling for his knife from an inner pocket—his manic grip grazing her shoulder, sending a spray of blood—even as Maya held firm.

  (Into hell you go. Repent in front of Mom and Sophia.) Her muscles tensed; she executed a perfect shoulder throw.

  He crashed headfirst onto the floor, blood gushing from eyes, ears, and mouth. And on his final breath... she wept, mourning all those she could never save.

  A dim operations room, monitors filled with grids of red dots.

  Three people sat in semi-darkness. The oldest—around 30, red?haired and composed—spoke.

  “Another Returner has awakened. Victoria, Emma, proceed as per protocol.”

  The teenager, Emma—sporting a pixie cut—spoke, concern in her voice:

  “That makes three this month. But this area is cult territory... they’re not to be shown mercy.”

  Victoria, in her mid?20s with ash?blonde hair tied in a ponytail, nodded.

  “Right. Emma, ensure your wrist?coms are updated. We can’t have Aurora’s surveillance systems catching our response.”

  “Got it,” Emma smiled grimly.

  Beep?beep?beep! Maya glances at the glowing watch on Ezekiel’s wrist—lines of strange code flash past.

  (What...? Is that transmitting a signal?)

  A deep hum rattles the house. All window shutters slam down in unison—locks engage.

  Silence falls like a coffin lid.

  Maya’s spine stiffens in terror.

  A voice crackles from Ezekiel’s watch:

  “Lumen Day special unit, abnormal event detected. Deploying now.”

  Thank you for reading up to Chapter 3! This marks the end of the **Vengeance Prologue Arc**—Maya’s return from the grave and her first act of defiance.

  This chapter marks the end of Maya’s old life—and the beginning of her vengeance.

  With Ezekiel’s death, hidden truths begin to surface. But her awakening has stirred something far greater—one watched closely by unseen eyes.

  Thank you so much for reading this far. **The story is only just beginning.**

  If you're willing to walk through hell with her, please consider adding this story to your reading list. **Comments and feedback are always welcome.**

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  Starting next chapter, the story will shift toward the mysterious organization **Luna Nordics**, where Maya begins her new life among other Returners.

  **Updates every Tuesday and Friday at 10 PM (JST).** Stay tuned—her journey is just beginning.

  If this story resonated with you, feel free to leave a **rating** or **follow**—I’d be honored to have you along for the ride.

  check out my Substack article here:

  https://open.substack.com/pub/knishi2050/p/why-i-wrote-hells-returners?r=5wfkgu&utm_medium=ios)

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