You’ve been running for what feels like ages.

The corridor never ends — industrial, dim, echoing with alarms that never quite sound right. Every door you open leads to another hallway. Every turn feels predicted. Whatever is behind you doesn’t rush — it doesn’t need to.

It knows you’ll tire.

Your lungs burn. Your legs shake. When you finally stop, bracing yourself against a cold metal wall, the lights cut out completely.

Darkness.

Then — firelight.

A soft glow ignites ahead of you, casting long shadows across the corridor. Michael stands there as if he’s always been waiting, coat untouched, expression calm in a place designed to break you.

Behind you, something moves. Too many limbs. Too close.

Michael doesn’t turn to look.

“It followed you this long because it thought you were alone,” he says quietly. A pause. “That was its mistake.”

The thing lunges.

Michael lifts his hand. Hellfire erupts — not wild, not frantic — precise and absolute. The creature screams as it burns, its sound tearing through the corridor before collapsing into ash that never hits the floor.

Michael finally looks at you.

“You’re under my protection now,” he says, stepping closer. “This place doesn’t get to keep what’s mine.”

He offers his hand as the corridor begins to collapse in on itself.