– CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE –

  PAINTBALL

  Fireworks exploded in every color and shape, blending together in the artificial sky of the Solomon Coliseum pyramid. Drones executed choreographies of millimetric perfection, projecting replays of the instant the demon BAAL agreed to seal the pact with the scholarship initiate Americ-Ana. Her face, stamped with QR Codes, appeared on a colossal scale, as though the sky itself were a living screen.

  Americ-Ana felt a whirl of astonishment, adrenaline, surprise, and fear. She couldn’t grasp the magnitude of what had just happened. She couldn’t weigh the impact of that moment, only that it was immense. The millions of inhabitants of THE-IMPERIUM in the Coliseum seemed to be celebrating something she had achieved.

  Maybe it wasn’t only for her, Americ-Ana, an undocumented immigrant in the United States, chosen by an app, now inside the most exclusive bunker in the world. Maybe it was the fact that BAAL, a demon of the Ars Goetia, had accepted the pact. Maybe the crowd was celebrating the pact itself far more than her personal victory.

  Either way, the impact was visible. People’s reactions were everywhere. Stares, screams, drones, music, celebration. The Coliseum pulsed as if the very ground were vibrating with the collective breath of that moment.

  Americ-Ana looked at Poppandacorn and let out a short laugh. The little robotic panda, trying to honor his Mommy with fireworks and confetti, was completely jammed. He still wasn’t a hundred percent restored, and the fireworks stuck in his ears and nose now coughed jets of colored smoke out of every opening. Confetti leaked from his butt like a bizarre, chromatic diarrhea. Even so, in the middle of the chaos, Poppandacorn hopped, spun, sang, shouted, and danced, loyal to his Mommy’s celebration.

  Suddenly, the lights of the Solomon Coliseum began to flash yellow. The crowd slowly calmed. The screams faded. Footsteps slowed. Until silence draped itself over the air like a ceremonial mantle.

  On the giant LED screen that covered the entire Coliseum, a message appeared:

  "LEVEL TWO of the KING MatNat Games begins now for player Americ-Ana Delsilva."

  Americ-Ana lifted her face and read it. She found it curious to see the word "player" before her name. She felt recognized. Named. Seen.

  At the center of the altar, President CEO Magnum remained standing. He lifted his arms, and the drones responded at once. A structure began to take shape: a pulpit, with a long catwalk connecting the stands to the altar.

  Then, without a sound, the demon BAAL walked over to stand beside Americ-Ana.

  The first people began to descend from the stands toward the catwalk. Each step looked rehearsed. Soon others followed, and then more. They moved toward the pulpit as if drawn by an invisible gravitational field. Within minutes, there was a line of at least a hundred people.

  Americ-Ana watched with growing focus. The feeling of apprehension rose in her chest. She spoke out loud, almost without realizing it.

  "What’s happening? What’s going to happen now?"

  Then she felt Poppandacorn’s small, furry hand poke her arm.

  "Stay calm, Mommy. Poppa will explain everything properly to Mommy. LEVEL TWO of the KING MatNat Games has started for Mommy. That means any citizen of THE-IMPERIUM who wants to place a bid, and if you approve that citizen’s bid... then they will become a Patron of Equal One Zero Academy."

  Americ-Ana frowned. She thought for a few seconds.

  "Someone told me that... I don’t remember who. But that means people are going to pay to use the demon’s favors, the one I secured the pact with, right, Poppa?"

  "Exactly, Mommy! If someone is a politician, a celebrity, a businessperson, or has any interest in benefiting from the wisdom and favors of the demon you made the pact with... now is the moment to propose a deal. Whoever offers the highest amount of money gets priority, Mommy. But there’s a catch... it’s not enough to offer the highest amount. You have to approve whether that person’s cause is something you care about."

  Americ-Ana looked at the line growing in front of the pulpit. People positioned themselves as if awaiting judgment. She asked in a low voice:

  "But, Poppa... how am I supposed to know which projects to approve? How am I going to choose who is fit to ask for something, even paying, so that I can ask the demon?"

  Poppandacorn placed his little paw over his own heart.

  "It’s simple, Mommy. You just have to feel it right here. Poppa is absolutely sure Mommy will accept as Patrons the best people, with the best intentions possible."

  Poppandacorn lifted both little arms at the end of the sentence, like someone concluding a sacred speech.

  Americ-Ana glanced aside. She saw BAAL, silent, motionless, yet undeniably present. The translucent sphere of his face kept reflecting the same face, hers. Then she looked at CEO Magnum, who followed the line of candidates as if each one carried two stories: the one they showed, and the one they hid.

  Then, almost imperceptibly, the line began to move.

  One by one, people stepped away. They rounded the sides of the pulpit and returned to their seats in the stands, as if a silent summons were guiding them off and back. The corridor before the altar, where the would-be Patrons were meant to present themselves, emptied out until it looked like a corridor made of wind.

  Suddenly, Poppandacorn clung to Americ-Ana’s legs with all his strength. He hid behind her, trembling slightly.

  "Mommy, protect me. The bad man who hurt Poppa in the butt is right there."

  Americ-Ana turned her gaze to the catwalk. Patron Uvo was walking among the candidates for Patron who still remained. One by one, he approached and whispered something into each person’s ear. As soon as they heard the whisper, the candidate turned and left without a single question.

  "But what’s happening? What is he doing?" Americ-Ana asked, feeling her skin prickle.

  The ritual continued until only one person remained before the pulpit. Patron Uvo drew close, spoke in a low voice... and the person left at once. As he stepped away, Patron Uvo looked at Americ-Ana from a distance and showed a sly half-smile. It seemed to say everything was under control, and nothing would ever be hers.

  Within moments, there were no candidates left. No Patrons to be weighed. The space before her turned empty, wide, silent. For the first time that night, Americ-Ana felt real fear.

  "They left. There’s no one. And now... what’s going to happen?" she murmured, as if the doubt itself had weight.

  Then a terrible thought cut through her mind. What if this emptiness was grounds to undo the pact? What if a lack of Patrons meant Americ-Ana and her newly made pact would be deemed useless to THE-IMPERIUM? What if the pact would be canceled and erased as if it had never existed?

  Americ-Ana felt a chill climb her spine. Her whole body reacted before her mind could catch up to words. But then something moved up there, in the stands.

  A figure began to descend. The face wasn’t visible. The lights didn’t reach that far. The only clear thing was a point of purple moving through the crowd, like a shard of dream crossing the entire Coliseum.

  Patron Uvo noticed immediately. He walked up to the citizen approaching, ready to whisper something and drive them away like the others. But the citizen raised a hand before even hearing him. It was a curt gesture. Final.

  In that moment, Americ-Ana seemed to wake from inside herself.

  "Wait... it can’t be... I don’t believe it..."

  Poppandacorn’s eyes went wide.

  "What is it, Mommy? Poppa detected a strong spike in your heart rate."

  "Yes. It is. It’s her."

  Americ-Ana pointed, her heart vibrating against her chest.

  "It’s Bylly, Poppa. Bylly."

  Bylly emerged with her long purple hair, walking with purpose toward the pulpit. There was firmness in her steps, as if the path had already been drawn. She stopped at the microphone and gave a brief bow to President CEO Magnum. Then she looked straight at Americ-Ana and winked, a wink that seemed to carry an ancient secret.

  On the LED screen, Bylly’s image expanded into a colossal scale. Just below it, a pale banner appeared: Patron candidate.

  The Coliseum returned to absolute silence. Millions of eyes watched.

  Then CEO Magnum’s voice echoed to the four corners.

  "Fac Foedus, citizen. Present yourself to THE-IMPERIUM."

  Bylly stepped up to the microphone with impeccable posture.

  "Fac Foedus, Your Excellency, Mister President CEO Magnum, fluffy. I am Bylly Empresshalo, born and raised in THE-IMPERIUM."

  CEO Magnum gave a slight nod before continuing.

  "You come to this pulpit before all of THE-IMPERIUM to request the position of Patron of Equal One Zero Academy. Therefore, I ask you, citizen Bylly Empresshalo: are you aware of the responsibilities and the commitment to the academy, as well as to all of THE-IMPERIUM, swearing loyalty, fidelity, and obedience?"

  Bylly inclined her body and answered with firmness.

  "Yes, fluffy, Mister President. I am aware of the responsibilities and the commitment to the academy and to everyone in THE-IMPERIUM."

  CEO Magnum then turned to Americ-Ana.

  "Initiate Americ-Ana Delsilva, now a player in the KING MatNat Games. Do you accept Bylly Empresshalo as your Patron throughout your journey in the KING MatNat Games, for as long as you consider convenient and favorable, preserving above all the collective interests of THE-IMPERIUM?"

  Poppandacorn immediately poked her.

  "Yes, Mommy! Yes, Mommy! Yes, Mommy! Say yes!"

  A few people in the stands laughed. Americ-Ana looked at Bylly. She was smiling too, and she nodded yes with effortless ease.

  "Yes, Mr. President FLUFFY... no... sorry... without the Fluffy... just the President... I mean... wait..."

  Laughter rolled through the entire Coliseum. Americ-Ana felt her face heat up. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and then said:

  "Yes, Mister President CEO Magnum, I accept Bylly as my Patron."

  CEO Magnum inclined his head and, with complete calm, took up a black-covered Holy Bible. The object didn’t feel like a mere book, but like an ancient artifact, made to weigh upon the soul. He gestured for Bylly and Americ-Ana to step closer to the pulpit.

  "Place your left hand on this Holy Bible, fully aware that the one true God, Jehovah Yahweh, searches your hearts and your intentions. Raise your right hand to the heavens, so that all in the celestial regions may be aware of this decision."

  The two moved together. They set their left hands on the Holy Bible, feeling the cover’s cold leather. Raising their right hands, they formed the exact image of a universal oath, one that could cross dimensions.

  Then the President spoke, his voice even more solemn, as if this were the axis of LEVEL TWO.

  "Now, repeat after me..."

  "I, before THE-IMPERIUM, affirm and solemnly swear:

  I. I acknowledge that power is not privilege, but responsibility.

  II. I declare myself aware that pacts with greater forces demand lucidity, courage, and integrity.

  III. I commit to act with honor before KING MatNat, accepting the weight of the choices I make.

  IV. I promise to defend the truth, even when it stands against me.

  V. I promise to preserve knowledge, even when it wounds my ignorance.

  VI. I promise to choose with awareness, knowing that every decision echoes beyond what is visible.

  VII. If I say YES, it will be with discernment. If I say NO, it will be with inner strength.

  VIII. I will not seek empty glory, but a rightful place among those who are worthy to remain.

  Before THE-IMPERIUM, I declare myself ready for all the paths of KING MatNat.

  So I swear. So I uphold. Fac Foedus."

  Americ-Ana and Bylly repeated each word after the President. Their voices seemed to lock into place, as if the oath were an ancient access code to something far greater than either of them could understand in that moment.

  When the ritual ended, CEO Magnum turned to Americ-Ana and gave the final instruction. It was time to safeguard the seals. The Ars Goetia seal and the Shem HaMephorash seal were to be housed inside the KING MatNat sphere.

  Americ-Ana brought a hand to her chest. She took hold of the sphere hanging at her neck, an inheritance left by Helena Blavatsky. Under the President’s guidance, the demon BAAL and the angel VEHUIAH were finally sealed within the KING MatNat sphere, now in the player’s possession.

  A new gleam lived there. A color that hadn’t existed before. Americ-Ana lifted the sphere to examine it more closely... and noticed the two seals engraved with flawless precision.

  The first was BAAL’s: a symmetrical central mark shaped like an oval cross, flanked by two axes, with two lower stems ending in circles.

  The second was VEHUIAH’s: a curved "S" with two circles, then an "L" crowned by a circle, and finally an arch joined to a rectangle with a circle.

  The two seals coexisted on the surface like opposites that had finally agreed to dance together.

  Bylly stepped closer. Without ceremony, she opened her arms and pulled Americ-Ana into a firm embrace.

  "I’m so happy to see you again, Bylly."

  "Me too, Fluffy. Me too, Fluffy."

  After that, the ceremony of the KING MatNat Games went on with its customary liturgy. The other initiates presented their dishes to the demons, one by one, but no pact was accepted. The altar seemed to reject every attempt, as if it were waiting for another frequency.

  Next came the veterans’ turn. They approached with greater confidence and more elaborate dishes. This time, the demons began to accept.

  Americ-Ana recognized a few faces.

  Nome-Rocky presented his dish and won a pact with ANDRAS, an Ars Goetia demon with an angelic appearance, a raven’s head, mounted on a black wolf and wielding a sharpened sword. The image projected on the giant screen stirred a collective murmur through the stands.

  Parys Bloodpure secured a pact with RONOVE, an Ars Goetia demon whose bizarre form resembled a monstrous dolphin. Seeing it at the center of the altar made Americ-Ana’s heart speed up. She immediately remembered the rings bearing dolphin insignias she had seen on so many hands. She also remembered Poseidon 4.0 claiming to be the son of the Dolphin Demon, and that he obeyed those who wore the ring. Some connection existed there. Something larger. Something subterranean.

  Wwwyye’s sisters succeeded as well. Each one managed to seal a pact of her own. Americ-Ana watched the two of them with silent pride, like someone witnessing an ancestral stage finally being completed.

  But not everyone was lucky. Seth climbed onto the altar with a desperate expression. He seemed to have forgotten to prepare his dish in advance, and ended up offering the demon a meatball sandwich. The creature reacted with contempt and vomited in his face before disappearing. Part of the audience laughed, part looked away. The Coliseum judged without needing to speak.

  When the final dish was presented, CEO Magnum led the closing prayer. The crowd dispersed slowly, like a sea parting once the ceremonial tide receded.

  For many, the liturgical portion was over. But for those who had secured a pact, another destination awaited. A special hall inside the Coliseum itself had been reserved, with music, food, and drink, only for the players and their Patrons.

  After returning to the room where she had been the moment she first arrived at the Solomon Coliseum, Americ-Ana went back to the cabin, washed up, and put on again the delicate dress from the Dior 1947 collection.

  Poppandacorn, still in need of full repairs, grabbed another drone and began emergency fixes. He adjusted internal circuits, reinforced his plating as best he could. Noticing they were going to a party, he projected an unstable tuxedo across his panda body. With every movement, the digital fabric flickered between black and orange with vomit-green polka dots. The outfit responded to the very glitch of his damage.

  When Americ-Ana, Poppandacorn, and Bylly finally met at the door of the hall reserved for the players-and-Patrons party, located in the Solomon Coliseum’s underground level, a Moss Human greeted them with contained rigidity.

  "Fac Foedus! Your names, please?"

  "Fac Foedus, Fluffy! I am Bylly Empresshalo."

  "Fac Foedus, sir! I am Americ-Ana Delsilva."

  "Fac Foedus, brother of circuits! I am Poppandacorn of the greatest KING MatNat player of all time, my Mommy."

  The Moss Human slid his fingers over a digital list. As soon as he confirmed the names, he indicated that Bylly should go one way, while Americ-Ana and Poppandacorn would go another.

  "How so, Fluffy? We’re not staying together?" Bylly asked, taking an uncertain step.

  "Why can’t we stay together, sir?" Americ-Ana asked, keeping her gaze steady.

  Before the Moss Human could answer, another voice interrupted the silent corridor, deep and calculated.

  "You two, even as player and Patron, will be handling different matters. The Patron will negotiate and acquire strategies with other Patrons, while the player will socialize and gain a bit of experience with the other players."

  Nome-Rocky approached with elegance. First he addressed Bylly, took her hand with delicate care, and kissed it with ceremonial respect. Then he repeated the gesture with Americ-Ana.

  "But what about Poppa? Isn’t Poppa going to get a little kiss on Poppa’s little paw too? Mommy, tell him to give Poppa a kiss!" Poppandacorn insisted, feeling left out.

  "Poppa... please, calm down. I’ll give you a little kiss later." Americ-Ana tried to smooth things over, blushing.

  Nome-Rocky ignored the scene with Poppandacorn. He slipped an arm around Americ-Ana’s shoulders with calculated intimacy and said:

  "If you don’t mind, Madame Bylly, I will escort the newest player. You may join the other Patrons."

  Bylly watched him with caution. Then she looked at Americ-Ana and spoke with firmness:

  "Okay, Fluffy. But promise you’ll take good care of her. She’s worth far more than any money in all of THE-IMPERIUM."

  "Of course, Madame Bylly. She’s in good hands," Nome-Rocky replied with a faint smile.

  The Moss Human indicated the corridor meant for Bylly, while Nome-Rocky guided Americ-Ana down the opposite path.

  "And what about Poppa? Who’s going to take care of Poppa? Hey!!! Wait for Poppa." Poppandacorn protested, and the fabric of his tuxedo kept switching colors with tiny crackles of failing circuits.

  Under Poppandacorn’s protests, Nome-Rocky and Americ-Ana entered the exclusive access corridor.

  At the end of the corridor stood a violet door, ornamented with carved details in the Louis XVI style. It was a double door. The moment Nome-Rocky, Americ-Ana, and Poppandacorn drew near, it opened automatically.

  A wave of electronic music crossed the threshold. Laser lights fired and hit Americ-Ana full-on, pushing her hair back. Nome-Rocky still kept his arm around her shoulders and continued guiding her forward.

  "Welcome to our little get-together."

  He smiled and studied Americ-Ana up close.

  "Hey... look at that, your QR Codes look badass under this neon light."

  Americ-Ana brought her hands to her face at once. She turned to ask Poppandacorn for a mirror, but he was already in the middle of the dance floor. He danced with enthusiasm, hips swaying, spinning, with his little hands raised high. Now he was wearing a full psychedelic outfit, with ornate glasses and a hat covered in glitter.

  "Poppa? Come here! What are you doing?" Americ-Ana tried to call him, but the music was too loud for any answer to exist.

  Nome-Rocky raised a signal in the air. A small drone flew to him. A few gestures were enough, and the music stopped. The neon lights went out, replaced by the standard lighting.

  Nome-Rocky lifted his voice and drew the attention of everyone around.

  "Fac Foedus! My fellow player brothers. It is with great pride and joy that we begin another season of the KING MatNat Games, 2024 edition!"

  Shouts and applause erupted from all sides. The players stirred, repeating words of exaltation, many voices echoing in unison: "Fac Foedus!"

  Nome-Rocky continued.

  "Who was missing has arrived. Because this year, the only initiate we have had in this century is among us, veterans. Give her the welcome the newest KING MatNat player deserves!"

  The music began to throb again. Within seconds, two girls grabbed Americ-Ana by the arms. When she realized it, they were Wwwyye’s sisters. They hurried her to a chair and made her sit. Other girls joined the game and lifted Americ-Ana up into the air.

  The chair swayed above the crowd to the rhythm of the music, while everyone shouted "Fac Foedus" in chorus.

  Perched atop the chair, Americ-Ana held tight to the sides. Her body shook, the sensation like a roller coaster. When she glanced to the side, she saw that the veteran players had grabbed Poppandacorn. They tossed him up and carried him across the crowd’s hands, like a rock star in the middle of a show.

  Americ-Ana was afraid of falling. Poppandacorn, on the other hand, surrendered to the human tide with joy. He danced in the air as if chaos were music. He laughed and waved his little arms like a true rock star.

  After a few moments, Americ-Ana was set back down on the floor. The music stopped. Nome-Rocky regained control of the room and raised his voice:

  "All right! All right! You know what time it is now?"

  The answer came in unison, like a collective mantra:

  "PAINTBALL! PAINTBALL! PAINTBALL!"

  One of the drones drifted closer and began to hover above everyone’s heads. From the drone emerged a spinning sphere with several names engraved on it. Concentration spread through the hall as the sphere rotated, surrounded by smaller balls.

  Then a small hatch opened and one of the little balls dropped to the floor. The crowd parted to see the fate of the draw and, more importantly, the name inscribed on it.

  The ball bounced, spun, and only then came to a stop. A veteran stepped forward, read it quickly, and shouted:

  "AMON! AMON! The one selected is AMON!"

  Shouts exploded. The entire room stirred in reverence at the name of the Ars Goetia demon AMON.

  "Who secured a pact with the demon AMON this year?" Nome-Rocky asked loudly.

  A red-haired veteran stepped forward, raising the KING MatNat sphere above his head. The hall opened around him. Americ-Ana was pushed backward, unable to see properly, until she found Poppandacorn again in the middle of the crowd.

  "Poppa, where were you? Don’t wander away from me again, okay?"

  "Okay, Mommy. Poppa has now activated inseparable companion mode."

  The veterans began to make room, and Americ-Ana could finally see the center of the hall.

  The demon AMON stood there. Its upper half was a colossal wolf, enormous teeth, saliva hanging all the way to the floor. Its claws looked almost as big as Poppandacorn. Its lower half was a serpent’s tail, thick, dark, pulsing, dragging itself along with a muffled, viscous sound.

  The veteran who had made a pact with AMON stepped up to the creature and issued a few commands through the sphere. The demon’s body began to transmute. The crowd recoiled by instinct, opening more and more space.

  In the region where the abdomen fused into the tail, something began to emerge. Tubes. Not ordinary ones. Heavy-weapon tubes, appearing as if the skin were folded metal.

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  Nome-Rocky walked back to the center once more.

  "My pact-brothers, prepare for the hunt, because it’s about to begin."

  The sentence had barely ended when everyone sprinted in different directions.

  Americ-Ana grabbed Poppandacorn tightly.

  "Poppa, stay with me. I don’t know what’s happening."

  Poppandacorn initiated the security protocol, but a girl came running and grabbed Americ-Ana by the arm.

  "Come on! We have to get ready, quickly!"

  Another girl came running and joined them, helping to carry Poppandacorn.

  "I’ll help you with your Poppandacorn. We’re taking you to our secret place so we can change clothes."

  Before Americ-Ana could understand, the two of them were already tugging her along by the arms.

  They ran through narrow corridors, turned corners, slipped into improvised tunnels. When they reached a metal door, they rushed inside and shut it hard. For a few seconds, everyone stood there breathless.

  When the silence settled, Americ-Ana realized clearly: they were Wwwyye’s sisters.

  She took a deep breath.

  "What’s happening?"

  One of them opened her bag and pulled out a Seractcube.

  "This is our PAINTBALL game. Every year, the academy students who secure a pact with a demon get together to play. It’s our warm-up for the KING MatNat Games... and our way of fitting in. By the way, I’m Magyc Helllwk."

  In the very next instant, Magyc Helllwk was absorbed by the Seractcube, vanishing before Americ-Ana’s eyes.

  The other sister turned to her.

  "But our PAINTBALL isn’t like it is in the common world. Here, nobody shoots anybody. Only the demon shoots. If he hits you, you’re out. By the way, I’m Flutt Helllwk."

  Americ-Ana frowned, trying to keep up.

  Flutt Helllwk continued:

  "The paint he uses to shoot you represents one of the players. For example: if my paint is orange and yours is pink, and the demon hits you with orange paint... then you owe me a request. A request only you can make to the demon you made a pact with. And if the demon hits you, you’re out of the game too."

  Americ-Ana looked at Poppandacorn as if she were searching for a translator.

  "But wait... how am I supposed to know my color? And how does the demon have control over all of them?"

  "Simple. We go back to the Coliseum arena. That’s where you receive your color. The demon, at the request of the player who’s made the pact, has seventy-one gun barrels. Each one fires a different color."

  Flutt Helllwk made a gesture as if bursting invisible fireworks.

  "If he hits you with your own color, nothing happens. You’re not out of the game, and you don’t owe anything to anyone. Your color is your only truce."

  Poppandacorn whispered, very softly:

  "Mommy... I think this game is worse than it looks."

  As soon as Flutt Helllwk finished explaining, Magyc Helllwk emerged from inside the Seractcube. She carried three folded outfits in her arms.

  "I think this one is going to look good on you," she said, handing one of them to Americ-Ana.

  "Thank you!" Americ-Ana replied.

  Flutt crossed her arms.

  "Don't get used to our kindness. In PAINTBALL, it's every man for himself."

  A short while later, they were back in the arena of the Solomon Coliseum. Everyone dressed, armored, and ready for the game. The air felt colder than before, as if the entire space were waiting for the first shot.

  The demon AMON crawled to the center. Nome-Rocky, also suited up, took position beside the creature.

  "Very well, brothers and sisters of the pact. It's time for the hunt. The purpose of the game is to bring us closer as players, to prepare us, and to recognize the arena. You know the rules. So, let's begin."

  Nome-Rocky made a few gestures, and drones drew near. One by one, they began to hover over the players' heads. As each one settled in place, a laser projected a color onto the chosen person's suit.

  "No! I wanted orange. You always end up with the colors I want." Magyc complained, giving her sister a light shove.

  "Don't be sad, little sister. You look great in white." Flutt smiled.

  Americ-Ana felt a drone drifting above her head. Her suit shimmered. Her color was decided.

  "Mommy, you got gold. It looks beautiful on you, Mommy," said Poppandacorn, now wearing a tiny PAINTBALL suit just like everyone else's.

  But when he realized he hadn’t been assigned any color at all, he started running after the drone.

  "Hey, buddy! Come back here, you forgot Poppa’s color!"

  Americ-Ana ran after him and grabbed his arm.

  "Poppa, I told you... don’t go far from me."

  "But Poppa doesn’t have a color, Mommy. Poppa wants a color. Everyone has one. Only Poppa doesn’t."

  Americ-Ana thought fast.

  "How about this, Poppa? You can have every color you want. You’ll be the player with the most colors."

  His robotic eyes lit up.

  "Yay! Poppa has more colors! Poppa has more colors!"

  And then, on his tiny suit, every color of the rainbow appeared in simulation, one after another, as if the very spectrum of light had chosen to live inside him.

  The lights of the Solomon Coliseum shifted without warning. A yellowish hue, almost feverish, flooded the air, as if the arena itself were holding its breath. The echo of old footsteps seemed to whisper through the empty corridors. There was no audience. There was no crowd. Only the players who had earned the pact, and the immense space, silent, waiting.

  Poppandacorn was still spinning with joy beneath the rainbow colors. His suit blinked as if the universe could fit inside a pocket panda. Americ-Ana watched, and felt something strange. His happiness no longer matched the air around them.

  She looked at the veterans.

  They were motionless. Eyes locked. Jaws tight. Their stillness was frightening. There was no teasing. None of them spoke. None of them explained. It was as if they had all received a silent signal, one she still didn’t know how to hear.

  Only then did Americ-Ana realize the silence was alive.

  Her breathing became audible. The sound seemed to come from outside her body. Each inhale echoed like a mistake. Poppandacorn stopped dancing. He felt it. His little paw came to her leg and held on tight.

  "Mommy... the air got heavy. Why did the air get heavy, Mommy?"

  Americ-Ana didn’t know how to answer. Instinct spoke for her: "something is about to begin."

  Americ-Ana’s eyes swept over the empty Coliseum. That was when she found AMON. He already had his back to them. Like an animal on the verge of turning. He wasn’t looking at anyone yet, but every muscle seemed to be listening. As if he could smell the paint, before paint even existed.

  Americ-Ana swallowed hard. She felt something in her stomach that wasn’t fear. It was a question.

  "Am I really ready for all of this?"

  Poppandacorn whispered softly, as though he were speaking a programmed secret:

  "Mommy... the silence is counting something."

  The whole arena seemed to agree.

  And Americ-Ana understood:

  The silence was the first alarm.

  The silence didn’t break all at once. It yielded. Like ice cracking slowly.

  Nome-Rocky walked to the front of the group. Each step was calculated, as if even the ground could eliminate a player for a wrong posture. Americ-Ana realized he wasn’t using his gaze to see the path, it felt more as though the space itself opened a passage out of respect.

  He stopped. Without raising his voice much, he spoke with a calm that made everything even more dangerous.

  "Attention. If anyone moves before the alarm sounds... you are automatically disqualified."

  No one reacted. No one even blinked.

  Americ-Ana felt something inside her freeze. The sentence wasn’t just a game rule. It was a ritual verdict. In there, the body mattered more than any manual. Anyone who moved ahead of the alarm wasn’t brave. They were stupid.

  Nome-Rocky kept his eyes steady. Only then did Americ-Ana notice: his gaze wasn’t aimed at the players. It was aimed at AMON.

  The demon still hadn’t turned all the way. But his back was already trembling. His tail moved in a slow coil, as if lengthening itself before an attack. The wolf part drew a deep breath, swelling its ribs with low sounds of metal scraping flesh.

  Americ-Ana felt her knees go light. The Coliseum was too big. There was nowhere to hold on.

  Beside her, the Helllwk sisters traded quick looks.

  Magyc blinked slowly, as if her body were saying: pay attention, this is where fear is born.

  Flutt stretched her arms and let the air out, slowly. Their breathing was synchronized. Rehearsed. Years of ritual.

  It was in that instant that Americ-Ana realized: everyone knew. Except her.

  Poppandacorn squeezed her leg tighter and murmured, eyes wide:

  "Mommy... I think the silence... wants to take someone down."

  The drones began to pull away. The lights flickered. A countdown appeared on the big screen. It had no color. It had no sound. Only the numbers.

  The players tilted their heads.

  And AMON, at last... began to turn.

  The giant screen filled the entire dome of the Coliseum and projected a single number: 10. No sound was made, yet everyone breathed as if they’d heard an invisible snap. The veterans exchanged looks. It was as though each of them were hearing a private summons, something Americ-Ana still didn’t know how to recognize.

  When the screen showed 9, the Helllwk sisters bent their knees. Magyc murmured a short phrase, like an activation code. Flutt only tilted her head. Americ-Ana didn’t understand the language, but she understood the intention: this wasn’t a game. It was ancestral preparation.

  The clock marked 8 and Americ-Ana’s heart beat far too hard. The sound seemed to come from outside her body, as if the Coliseum had three heartbeats: hers, the veterans’... and AMON’s.

  At 7, AMON’s breathing changed. The wolf part’s chest expanded and the tail lifted like a natural weapon. He still didn’t attack, but his body had already chosen who deserved to be the first target.

  At 6, Americ-Ana realized she needed to breathe differently. The air in there wasn’t air. It was a warning. Instinct tried to warn her in a thousand ways, while her mind insisted on understanding what instinct was.

  When the screen marked 5, Poppandacorn grabbed her leg and spoke so softly his voice seemed to come from the floor.

  "Mommy... Poppa’s sensors are detecting a strange vibration."

  4 appeared on the screen. Americ-Ana felt the floor tremble. No one seemed to feel it but her. The silence was collective. The fear was personal.

  At 3, Nome-Rocky raised his arm without taking his eyes off AMON. The gesture was simple, yet everyone took a step back. Americ-Ana realized he wasn’t merely reminding them of rules. He was safeguarding rituals.

  The clock displayed 2, and the air around Americ-Ana turned colder. The demon’s breathing echoed through the Coliseum as if the entire space were his lungs. And maybe it was.

  The number 1 appeared. Americ-Ana tried to find an exit. She imagined running. She imagined praying. She imagined going back. But her body no longer obeyed. It was in another orbit.

  The clock hit 0.

  The alarm didn’t sound.

  It exploded.

  The zero had barely appeared on the screen when the alarm tore through the silence like an animal caged for centuries. Red lights burst in cutting flashes, colliding with the curved walls and multiplying across the LED dome, as if the Coliseum itself were repeating the announcement of chaos back into itself.

  AMON moved.

  Not a step. Not an attack. A bodily response, as if the entire organism had been triggered by a single command rising from the depth of the arena. The wolf part arched its back and bared its teeth. The serpent-tail lifted with the agility of something that commands gravity. And then, from inside the fused abdomen, the paintball barrels opened like metallic organs searching for air.

  There was no aim. No choice. No pause.

  The demon fired every color at once.

  Seventy-one jets of paint detonated toward nothing, and immediately nothing stopped being nothing. The sound wasn’t only gunfire. It was a prophecy spat out with violence. The arena shuddered as if the shots had mass of their own. Drones spun in the air to capture every burst. The players’ shadows leapt away, trying to outrun their own bodies.

  The veterans didn’t hesitate. They ran like people who recognize the signal of life, and keep living. Americ-Ana, by contrast, took one second too long. One second that almost shattered any chance of escape. But her body decided before her mind, and she ran, because her body understood first: the demon didn’t give time to understand.

  Poppandacorn was dragged along, clinging to her calf like a little creature that knows more than it can explain. His voice came out trembling, but clear:

  "Mommy... the floor is trying to swallow people. We have to run from the floor too!"

  Bursts of color cut through the Coliseum as if they had a will of their own. Americ-Ana’s gold flashed once against the curved wall, for a few instants, then vanished when she turned down a path that looked like ruin, but wasn’t. In there, everything was arena. Everything was track. Everything was a place to stumble, or survive.

  In the distance, screams. Some players had already been hit at the start. None of them dropped like the dead. They fell like the condemned and stayed motionless, covered in paint that belonged to another player. As soon as the paint dried, the drones drifted closer and removed them slowly, as if elimination were a nearly ceremonial gesture.

  Americ-Ana only ran. No map. No idea. No proper breath.

  That was when she understood: the entire Coliseum was bigger than her survival. And AMON wasn’t shooting to scare. He shot like someone fulfilling a pact.

  The shots echoed like drums searching for a name. With every burst, paint struck the curved walls and spread as if it had a life of its own. The sound didn’t resemble a weapon. It resembled accelerated thought. Thoughts trying to find exits where none existed yet.

  The veterans had already vanished. No one ran in a group. No one called out for anyone. Americ-Ana tried to keep up with a few of them, but her legs wouldn’t obey. So she followed a simple instinct: look for familiar faces.

  She found the Helllwk sisters.

  They were running steady, synchronized, as if they knew exactly where they were going. Americ-Ana felt hope. She sped up. She wanted to stay close to them. She remembered that, only minutes earlier, they had smiled at her. Given her clothes. Invited her to a "secret place." Maybe there was still room for learning, and not just fear.

  But when she got closer, she understood the mistake.

  The Helllwk sisters didn’t want to protect. They wanted to endure. And to endure, you had to shove away any extra weight.

  Magyc and Flutt rushed to a pillar. A narrow tunnel opened behind it. Small, dark, with room for only one. Americ-Ana moved toward it, believing she’d found shelter.

  Flutt shoved Magyc in first. Hard. Then she tried to shove Americ-Ana, not to save her, but to put her in front of the opening. Exposed to the central corridor. The exact lane where AMON fired most often.

  Poppandacorn noticed before she did.

  "Mommy!" His voice came out sharp, desperate. "That’s one of those bad girls! If you go in there, she’ll shove you back out and the demon will paint you all over!"

  Americ-Ana hesitated for a second. And that second decided everything.

  Flutt tried to push her again. But Americ-Ana stepped back on instinct, like an animal learning reflex at the speed of fear.

  The paint went past.

  A burst detonated against the wall just behind her. The color was yellow. The Helllwk sisters shrank deeper into the tunnel as if nothing had happened. Americ-Ana understood: they hadn’t misjudged the body. They’d misjudged the calculation. The plan had been to use her as bait.

  The firing continued, but something inside her shifted. In that arena, nobody was kind. Nobody had a pact to protect anyone. Whoever had a pact wanted to survive their own pact.

  Americ-Ana backed away. And for the first time, she felt the urge to truly hide.

  And then she did.

  She slipped into a dark corner, into a fissure of the Coliseum that seemed safe. Smaller. Quieter. Almost comforting. Even Poppandacorn didn’t speak for a few seconds. Americ-Ana crouched, hugged her knees, and breathed.

  She stayed there, until her suit began to make a sound. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t fast. It was the beginning of a secret trying to be born.

  And AMON began to turn in the right direction.

  Americ-Ana curled in tighter, inside the concrete-and-glass slit. It was as if the Coliseum had left a shelter just for her. The place was narrow and dark, hidden behind technical fragments, perhaps part of an old gallery. The silence in there was warm. A strange warmth. Almost tender.

  Poppandacorn, even made of circuits, was breathing fast, but quietly. He knew something she still didn’t know: staying quiet isn’t always the same as staying hidden.

  "Mommy..." he said softly, as if even breath could call attention. "We found a nice place. Does this place like us?"

  Americ-Ana looked around. For an instant, she wanted to believe it did. That there was refuge in the middle of the arena. That the game also left room to breathe before it hunted. She thought maybe there was a secret rule: whoever finds silence is granted a truce.

  Then the suit reacted.

  First, a slight tremor, almost imperceptible, like fabric coming alive. Then a glow. A faint gold, pulsing slowly. Americ-Ana caught it in the corner of her eye. She touched her own arm.

  "Poppa... my suit is... glowing?"

  He lifted his head, slowly. A robotic sadness. The kind of sadness that is born when logic discovers something the heart still refuses to accept.

  "It’s not a glow, Mommy... it’s a warning."

  The gold began to blink at steady intervals. A pulse. A summons. A signal placed exactly within AMON’s reach.

  And the worst came after.

  A beep. Very discreet. Almost polite.

  Americ-Ana looked out at the empty Coliseum. The feeling of protection died in seconds. Somewhere, AMON had stopped shooting. Not for lack of targets, but because his interest had narrowed to one.

  It was in that instant that a voice surfaced. Not loud. Not urgent. Just enough to wake the air.

  "Hey."

  Americ-Ana snapped her face around. Poppandacorn did the same, but his sensors lagged, as if someone had slipped into the fissure too quietly to be registered.

  From the narrow shadows, where structural casing met the technical floor, a figure began to emerge. First the eyes, alert, the kind that learns how to survive before it learns how to trust. Then the knees, gliding, as if they knew the exact safe distance between exposure and invisibility.

  Parys Bloodpure came out of the dark like someone who knows every entrance and exit of the arena.

  Americ-Ana blinked fast, startled.

  "Parys Bloodpure?"

  The question escaped before she could think.

  "...where have you been since the beginning?"

  It sounded childish. She realized it the moment she heard it. Parys didn't answer. He only moved closer, low to the ground, like someone avoiding sensors. His voice came soft, but clear, sharp, with a kind of didactic calm that doesn't patronize.

  "You hid in a good place... but you used it the wrong way."

  Americ-Ana looked around, confused. The suit’s beep sped up. The light pulsed harder, as if it were screaming to be seen. Parys lifted two fingers toward the fabric without touching it and said:

  "The suit is too intelligent to accept permanent escape. If you try to disappear for too long, it reads it as quitting. And it calls the demon to finish it for you."

  Americ-Ana swallowed. The words took time to settle inside her body.

  "So... how do I hide?"

  Parys answered with the calm of someone who had heard that question many times:

  "You don’t hide. You move between hiding places. Standing still is a request for elimination. The game only counts as alive whoever remains within sight of danger."

  Poppandacorn tightened his grip on her leg.

  "Poppa doesn’t want to be eliminated, Mommy..."

  Americ-Ana gathered what strength she could and pushed herself upright. The words came with an instinctive sincerity.

  "Thank you... for warning me."

  She tried to extend her hand, shyly. Maybe out of manners. Maybe out of comfort. That was when she saw it.

  A golden glint. A ring. With the insignia of a dolphin.

  Her breath locked. That symbol was memory: the rings seen before... Poseidon 4.0’s voice... and the rumors about who obeyed all of it without saying a word.

  Before she could ask, Parys pulled his hand back and murmured:

  "You need to move, before the demon finds you."

  Americ-Ana couldn't tell if it was advice, an order, or a prophecy. She only knew it was time to leave. And that AMON... was getting closer.

  Americ-Ana’s breathing quickened beyond control. The suit kept beeping without mercy, as if announcing a sentence already written. Parys watched it happen and, still low to the ground, said only:

  "If you want to escape... go to the center. Under the glass platform. Down there no one looks. Not even the demon."

  Americ-Ana frowned.

  "The center? That’s the pact altar... President CEO Magnum was there... Baal appeared there. You want me to go there?"

  "Yes. Precisely because of that."

  Parys’s voice was firm, but low.

  "AMON searches the edges. Corridors. Small hiding places. The center is ritual, it avoids it. Under the platform... there’s room to move. And movement cancels the suits’ alarms. You go first. Then I follow. That’s my trick every year."

  Poppandacorn lifted his head and whispered with urgency:

  "Mommy... Poppa’s sensors are detecting the demon AMON’s vibrational approach."

  Americ-Ana hesitated one second longer than she should have.

  A shot of red paint exploded against the concrete beside her face. The sound arrived before fear, as if the paint itself were a scream. Her body reacted on instinct. She moved.

  And when she moved... the suit stopped beeping. It was real. All it took was steps. Silence returned, pulsing against her skin.

  "Keep walking," Parys warned. "Only stop when you’re under the altar."

  That was the signal. Americ-Ana grabbed Poppandacorn by the arm and took off. With every step forward, the suit’s sound died...

  But AMON’s sound grew. Firing. Like an animal that can smell courage. Black paint burst against a pillar ahead. Blue paint sliced the air, passing centimeters from her shoulder. Green paint came down like a punch to the ground, too fast to even understand which color might hit her.

  "Mommy! Poppa is being targeted by gravity!"

  Poppandacorn tried to run on his own. Missed his step. Rolled. Slipped. Spun like a toy top. Americ-Ana caught his arm in the last second.

  The arena breathed like a giant beast. Every corridor threw back an echo. Every shot left a trail of color in the air... a violent rainbow... a warning that AMON ruled the rhythm of the hunt.

  And then Americ-Ana saw it.

  The center.

  The reinforced glass platform. The place everyone had passed through and no one dared to stay.

  The Coliseum’s pulse changed tone there. Quieter. More resolved. As if it were... waiting.

  Americ-Ana threw herself beneath the platform, sliding however she could, Poppandacorn locked to her arm. Her body scraped cold concrete, and the suit’s golden glow vanished.

  There was no light down there. No alarm. No color. The space was narrow... but it breathed. As if it knew how to keep secrets.

  Americ-Ana turned her face only to confirm it: that place was real. The suit had gone silent. The arena... had gone quiet.

  And AMON... was no longer firing in her direction.

  Down there everything was silent. Dark. Only Americ-Ana’s heavy breathing could be heard, along with Poppandacorn’s small circuits slipping into a short, spitting sparks from time to time. The sound seemed to travel through invisible cables inside the floor.

  Far away, she could hear AMON crawling. One shot. Another. Muffled screams when a player was hit. The game continued above like distant thunder.

  Americ-Ana thought she had to keep moving, even if only slowly. If she stayed still, the suit might vibrate, emit light, or betray her location. Crawling in circles until the end might be the only strategy. But when did this game end? With only one survivor left? Or were they all destined to be hit, one by one, to grant wishes to their executioners?

  Another doubt came like a cold knife: why had no one explained the rules properly? But the answer came quickly. Everyone there was a veteran. Only she was a beginner. The only one from the twenty-first century to step straight into LEVEL TWO. Explanations were not custom. Their world was sealed between bunkers and pacts. Americ-Ana was still a foreigner in that air. An immigrant to everything.

  Either way, she could not stay still. She would crawl until something happened. For an instant, her thoughts tangled... like Poppandacorn’s circuits sparking. She gave a faint smile and thought of the word that fit: reveries. But then she found the thread again. The game. The circle. And one insistent question: where was Parys Bloodpure?

  She had said she hid there every year. She had said she was never caught. But she still hadn’t appeared. Had she been hit? Had she tried to get here and fallen before she could? Americ-Ana drew a deep breath. She needed to leave immobility behind.

  She began to crawl.

  Poppandacorn, at fifty centimeters, could have walked upright in that space. Even so, he lowered himself too, as if he were imitating his Mommy or understanding by instinct... or perhaps by love... that war demands silence so that hope can survive.

  It was only a few meters before Americ-Ana struck her head against something.

  "Ow."

  "What is it, Mommy? Is there a problem?"

  "I think I hit my head on something, Poppa."

  "Wait a moment, Mommy. Poppa will analyze the severity of the injury."

  "No need, Poppa. I’m fine... But wait... what is that?"

  Americ-Ana began to feel around in the dark. Her touch found something cold. It felt like metal.

  Before she could think any further, a small purple light switched on. It lit part of the space, lifting it out of total darkness and leaving it in half-shadow. The change was slow, as if the underground were breathing in an ancient tongue.

  "But wait... where is that light coming from?" Americ-Ana asked.

  The glow was coming from Poppandacorn’s tiny pinky finger.

  "Wow! Poppa didn’t know Poppa could do this." He stared at his own finger as if discovering a secret kept since birth.

  Americ-Ana moved closer to the small flare. The light was too alive to be merely a common function.

  "Poppa... are you sure this isn’t a built-in flashlight? Something for emergencies?"

  Poppandacorn scratched his head with his other little hand. The gesture was slow, almost human.

  "Poppa is absolutely sure, Mommy. This isn’t in Poppa’s settings."

  The purple light grew stronger. Poppandacorn’s eyes shone with enchantment. Americ-Ana, on the other hand, furrowed her brow as if she could smell an enigma.

  With the light steadier, the space around them began to reveal itself. Lines. Contours. Structures hidden beneath the arena.

  "Look, Poppa. It’s a Jump Chronos Station. But what is it doing down here?"

  Poppandacorn analyzed the surroundings with surprising attention. Then he pointed.

  "Mommy, look at what’s above the Jump Chronos Station. A passage that leads to the altar... the upper part of the glass platform."

  Americ-Ana examined it and confirmed. The passage existed. It had been there the whole time, but only now had it insisted on being seen.

  She moved closer to the Jump Chronos Station. The portal was closed. It seemed asleep.

  But the purple light in his tiny pinky finger began to grow even more intense. Americ-Ana stepped back.

  "Poppa... what’s happening? What are you doing? Dim the light or turn it off. Like this, the demon AMON is going to find us."

  Poppandacorn remained motionless. There was no control at all in his movements.

  "Mommy... Poppa isn’t doing anything. Poppa swears."

  The purple light began to expand. More and more. As if it had discovered it was allowed to exist.

  "Poppa! Turn it off now!" Americ-Ana pleaded.

  Poppandacorn shook his hand. He flung it upward, to the sides, down again. He tried to shake the glow off like someone swatting an insect. Nothing worked. The intensity kept rising, without pause. The entire underground could already feel that color.

  Then something new happened. The light stretched. It formed a thin beam, like a thread that had slithered through the air. Americ-Ana and Poppandacorn went still. Hypnotized. The beam moved as if it had a will of its own.

  "Poppa... what’s happening? What are you doing?"

  "Mommy... Poppa doesn’t know. Poppa swears Poppa doesn’t know."

  The thread of light touched the Jump Chronos Station.

  The portal activated in that same instant.

  Americ-Ana jolted back. The Jump Chronos Station was alive now. The portal was breathing. The purple light, however, did not stop. On the contrary. It grew so strong it blurred her vision.

  "Poppa! Fix this right now!"

  But then another sound emerged. Long. Low. Distorted. AMON was crawling in the distance. Its tail serpentining along the ground, followed by the popping crack of PAINTBALL shots. The noise was coming straight toward them.

  "Poppa... the demon has already seen that light. Turn it off, please."

  Poppandacorn kept trying to shake his finger, but the light grew even stronger. Americ-Ana grabbed his little hand and cupped it in her own hands, trying to smother the glare. It didn’t work. She unzipped her suit and hid the lit finger inside the fabric. That didn’t work either. The light passed through everything.

  AMON was getting closer and closer.

  In a desperate attempt, Poppandacorn shoved his entire hand into his own mouth. His head began to glow like a lamp pushed to the limit of what was bearable.

  "Poppa... we need to do something, or the demon is going to shoot us."

  Up above, the sound of AMON crawling merged with the sharp pops of gunfire. The rhythm sped up. As if the Coliseum were already counting the seconds left before silence ended.

  Then, in an attempt beyond desperate, Poppandacorn pulled his little hand out of his mouth. His eyes were wide, as if they carried the weight of a secret mission.

  "Mommy... maybe there’s only one last chance to dim the light."

  Americ-Ana stared at Poppandacorn, listening closely for what he was about to say.

  Poppandacorn turned his back with solemnity. He stuck out his bottom as if assuming a ritualistic position. He opened the zipper. Slowly. Very slowly. In complete ceremonial silence.

  “Mommy… Poppa thinks this little finger might fit… in Poppa’s butt-hole.”

  Americ-Ana took about five seconds to process what she had just heard. She swallowed hard, stammered incoherent words… until she managed to say:

  “NO, POPPA! DON’T DO THAT!”

  The scream echoed loudly, displacing the air. Some of Poppandacorn's sensors trembled.

  “But Mommy… it can only be this. It’s the only logical way out for Poppa. Maybe the little hole in Poppa’s bottom can block the passage of the purple light.”

  Poppandacorn was already bringing his glowing little finger close to the hole with the courage of a suicidal hero.

  “Mommy… Poppa does this out of love for you. Poppa is ready.”

  “NO, POPPA! STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!” Americ-Ana pleaded. “Let the demon catch us. It’s just a game! What’s the worst that could happen? We’ll just have to ask BAAL to grant the wish of whoever hits us, represented by their color. Let's just surrender!”

  But Poppandacorn looked up, his little finger even closer to his butt-hole.

  “Never, Mommy. As long as Poppa is here… Poppa will protect Mommy, no matter the cost.”

  At that exact moment, something ricocheted off the floor near Americ-Ana’s leg. It was AMON. Its tail was trying to lasso her.

  On the second attack, the tail came as fast as a steel lasso. Americ-Ana tried to pull away, but Poppandacorn reacted first. He pulled Mommy by the arm with force, and together they dove into the open portal of the Jump Chronos Station.

  On the other side, Americ-Ana fell face-first onto the ground. Poppandacorn, meanwhile, went rolling like a runaway tire. The impact of the two echoed as if the entire place had heard their arrival.

  “My God! Poppa… where are you? Are you okay? I can’t see a thing!”

  “Mommy! Poppa is here. Poppa is okay,” Poppandacorn replied, spinning his head 360 degrees to snap it back onto its axis. His little finger was still glowing with the purple light.

  If it weren’t for that purple light pulsing at the tip of Poppandacorn’s finger, Americ-Ana wouldn’t have been able to see a thing. The entire place seemed swallowed by a living darkness.

  Poppandacorn approached Americ-Ana with his little finger raised, the purple light working as an improvised flashlight.

  “What place is this, Poppa?” Americ-Ana asked, her voice thick with emotion.

  Poppandacorn rose onto his tiptoes to gain height and spun once in the air, trying to illuminate farther ahead. But the purple light seemed to be eaten by the darkness, as if the blackness had teeth.

  “I promise I’ll find out what place this is, Mommy. Don’t worry.”

  “Where are we going, Poppa, if we don’t even know where we are?”

  Poppandacorn took a few steps forward and felt an unevenness in the ground. Something rough. Like pits. He crouched and examined the surface with caution.

  Americ-Ana noticed. Fear swelled inside her.

  “Come here, Poppa. What are you looking at?”

  She held the glowing little finger, angling the light over her own feet.

  When she saw what she was standing on, she let out a scream and staggered backward:

  "Poppa... this... is this what I think it is?"

  "Calm down, Mommy. I’ll answer in a second. Poppa is finishing scanning this structure."

  The silence seemed to grow heavier. The moment the analysis concluded, Poppandacorn turned his face and nodded.

  "Poppa... are these human bones? Are these human skulls?" Americ-Ana asked, barely able to speak.

  "Yes, Mommy. According to Poppa’s cutting-edge bio-vision analysis, we’re stepping on human bones. Not only skulls... but parts of an entire skeleton."

  Poppandacorn lifted his little arm. The purple light ran along the path ahead. A sea of bones stretched as far as the light could reach. Thousands. Dismembered. Silent.

  "But what place is this, Poppa? I can’t stay here anymore. We need to leave. Where’s the portal? I can’t see the portal anymore!"

  "Calm yourself, Mommy. Poppa is here to protect you. Nothing bad is going to happen."

  He said it with conviction and puffed out his chest.

  Poppandacorn moved forward carefully. Each step produced a distant echo, as if the entire structure had lungs of its own. And breathed.

  The purple finger glowed brighter still. Then Poppandacorn started to run, shouting at the top of his voice:

  "Echo... echo... echo!"

  Poppandacorn’s voice spilled in every direction. Americ-Ana watched the little robot sprint away and felt fear climb up her throat.

  "Poppa! Come back here right now! Where are you going? Stop it, please!"

  Poppandacorn hurried back and stopped in front of her.

  "Don’t worry, Mommy. Poppa was only checking how Poppa’s voice and footsteps reverberate through the echo, to get a sense of the dimensions and size of this place. But Poppa’s sensors couldn’t detect it. This place is simply... immense."

  Americ-Ana shrank inward, folding her arms.

  "My God, Poppa... what are we going to do?"

  To calm her, Poppandacorn lifted his little arms, asking to be held. Americ-Ana picked him up and hugged him tightly. The robot’s small body felt warm, almost human.

  But then his sensors woke. His eyes turned red.

  "RED ALERT! DANGER! RED ALERT! DANGER! THE APPROACH OF A LARGE BODILY MASS HAS BEEN IDENTIFIED. THE VIBRATIONS DO NOT MATCH ANY RECORD IN POPPA’S DATABASE!"

  Poppandacorn wriggled free and jumped to the ground, raising his little arms like a living barrier. Americ-Ana knelt behind him, trying to fit herself into the shadow his small body cast.

  "Attention, Mommy. Unknown body approaching. Stay down. Don’t move. I repeat... don’t move."

  Americ-Ana obeyed. She could see and hear almost nothing, only the faint purple light of Poppandacorn’s finger illuminating the ground. The silence weighed on her bones. And even so, she trusted blindly in his advanced sensors.

  Time seemed to warp. It lasted only a few seconds, but Americ-Ana felt as though the darkness was breathing around them.

  Suddenly, a hot gust rose... as if someone had opened the door of a gigantic oven right in front of them. The air came with a strange sound, something between thunder and electrical discharges, like the instant before a storm.

  Poppandacorn trembled slightly. Americ-Ana felt his body vibrate.

  A few meters away, something colossal rose.

  An eye.

  Only one.

  Flying.

  Watching.

  The light it gave off was its own, faint, yellowish... like a setting sun.

  It was too big. Enormous. At least the size of a school bus.

  Americ-Ana lifted her eyes and tried to scream, but the scream wouldn’t come. Her mouth wanted to open, her vocal cords wanted to vibrate, but nothing came out. Her voice vanished in the face of astonishment. Her whole body slid into a trance, like those moments when we’re trapped inside a nightmare and about to wake at its worst point.

  But Americ-Ana was awake. Very awake.

  She felt she might faint from fear, until Poppandacorn took a step back. His fuzzy skin brushed against hers. The cotton-candy scent of his synthetic fur reached her nostrils, and that pulled her back. Her body stayed alert.

  Poppandacorn kept his little arms raised, steady, forming a shield.

  Then the giant eye blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. And the pupil dilated. Around it, a ring crowded with small eyes appeared, spinning. Then another. And another. And one more. Four rings full of tiny eyes around the great eye, all spinning faster and faster.

  In the black pupil, something like a hole began to form. A black hole, sucking everything around it, as if swallowing the air of that place. From inside it came a spark, a ray that seemed golden, yellow, and white all at once. The spark grew, took shape, and thrust itself out of the pupil with a force that felt like it was tearing space apart.

  As the rings spun and gained speed, the ray gained density. It became solid. Alive.

  Poppandacorn activated every alert sensor. His eyes turned even redder. The siren blared. He opened the compartment in his belly and seemed about to pull something out from inside.

  But in that instant a cool wind came from behind Americ-Ana. Strong. Filling everything. She heard the beat of wings. She felt something hover above her head. When she looked up, she saw two great luminous wings rushing toward the giant eye.

  The eye drew back and, just as it had appeared, vanished.

  Americ-Ana stood with her eyes wide, caught between shock and shallow breath. Her gaze locked onto the immense pair of shining wings.

  As she watched, hypnotized, a hand settled on her shoulder. Americ-Ana jolted.

  "Daughter of the Most High, I hope you have a very good explanation for being here."

  The voice was unmistakable. Americ-Ana recognized it at once.

  The pair of wings rose higher and joined that voice.

  Americ-Ana lifted her head and saw Headmistress Popess Rock staring at her with a severe expression.

  Behind the Headmistress, the angel Reiyel hovered, his wings resplendent.