Chapter 3: City of Angels and Monsters

Light erupted from Lyra's hands like captured lightning, brilliant lances of pure energy that sliced through the classroom air. The Remnant shrieked as the celestial fire struck its shadowy form, pieces of darkness burning away like oil on water. But the creature was fast—impossibly fast—flowing around her attacks like liquid nightmare.

Kaelen scrambled backward, his chair clattering to the floor as claws raked the air where his head had been a heartbeat before. The glyph on his hand blazed in response to the proximity of the monster, silver fire racing up his arm in patterns that mirrored Lyra's attacks.

"Stay behind me!" Lyra shouted, weaving another construct of light—this one shaped like a spear. She hurled it at the Remnant's center mass, and the creature screamed as the weapon punched through its ethereal body.

But it didn't die. Instead, it split apart like smoke, reforming behind her with a sound like tearing fabric.

"Clever little Scribe," the Remnant hissed, its voice like grinding glass. "But you cannot protect the Keystone forever. His power calls to us. Soon, all the Fallen will come."

Lyra spun, hands already weaving another attack, but the creature was ready. Claws raked across her shoulder, drawing actual blood that sparkled with inner light. She stumbled, her concentration breaking, and the construct she'd been forming collapsed into harmless sparks.

That's when Kaelen felt it—a surge of raw fury that had nothing to do with teenage anger and everything to do with the celestial power burning in his veins. The silver glyph flared like a star, and suddenly he could see the creature properly. Not just its shadow-form, but the twisted soul beneath, the hungry void where its heart should have been.

Without thinking, he reached out with his marked hand.

Power erupted from the glyph—not controlled like Lyra's precise attacks, but wild and primal. Silver fire washed over the Remnant, and this time its scream was genuine agony. The creature's form began to unravel, shadow peeling away in burning strips.

"Impossible," it gasped. "The Keystone... awakens..."

Then it was gone, dissolved into wisps of dissipating darkness that faded like morning mist.

Kaelen stared at his hand in shock. The glyph still pulsed with residual energy, but the power he'd felt—that ocean of barely contained force—had receded to a whisper.

"What the hell just happened?"

Lyra pressed a hand to her wounded shoulder, her violet eyes wide with something between awe and terror. "You accessed the Ward's power directly. I've never seen anything like it."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Both." She moved to the windows, peering out at the late afternoon sun. "We need to leave. That much raw energy will have attracted attention from things far worse than a single Remnant."

As if to emphasize her point, something howled in the distance—a sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Other voices joined it, a chorus of inhuman hunger that made Kaelen's skin crawl.

"Listen carefully," Lyra said, her voice taking on the crisp authority he'd heard in the hallway. "My name is Lyra Ashworth, and I'm what's called a Scribe of the Ward—a guardian trained from birth to maintain the barriers between your world and the realm of the Fallen. For three centuries, my order has protected humanity from creatures like the one you just banished."

"Three centuries?" Kaelen's voice cracked. "How old are you?"

"Old enough to remember when Los Angeles was still orange groves and cattle ranches." She began moving toward the door, gesturing for him to follow. "The thirteen Greater Wards were established in 1847, each one binding a different category of supernatural threat. The Hollywood sign was the Seventh Ward, containing entities of shadow and nightmare."

They moved through the abandoned hallway, their footsteps echoing in the darkness. Kaelen's mind reeled as he tried to process what she was telling him.

"So you're saying LA is built on some kind of supernatural prison?"

"Was. Past tense." Lyra paused at the exit, scanning the empty parking lot beyond. "When you destroyed the sign, you didn't just release its prisoners—you absorbed its power. That silver mark on your hand? It's called a Keystone, and it makes you the living embodiment of the Ward you broke."

The implications hit him like a freight train. "So every monster that was trapped under that Ward..."

"Can sense you like a beacon, yes. They'll come for you, one by one or all at once. And that's assuming the other Wards hold—which they won't, not without the Seventh to anchor the binding matrix."

They stepped outside into the fading daylight, and Kaelen felt exposed, vulnerable. Every shadow could hide a monster now, every alley could conceal death with too many teeth.

"There's something else," Lyra continued, her tone growing grimmer. "The human authorities. That explosion you caused? It registered on seismic equipment from here to San Diego. The FBI, Homeland Security, even agencies you've never heard of—they're all looking for whoever was responsible."

"Great. So I'm wanted by both the government and hell's rejects."

"More or less." She almost smiled at that, a fleeting expression that made her look actually fifteen for a moment. "Though I'd hardly call the Fallen 'rejects.' Some of them were gods once, before they were bound."

They reached the student parking lot, where Kaelen's beat-up Honda Civic sat among the few remaining cars. As he fished for his keys, his phone buzzed with a text from his mom:

Working late tonight. Leftovers in fridge. Love you.

The normalcy of it felt surreal. Three hours ago, his biggest worry had been avoiding Brad Morrison in the hallways. Now he was apparently the most wanted person in Los Angeles, hunted by both federal agents and literal demons.

"Where do we go?" he asked.

"Somewhere safe. Somewhere I can teach you to control that power before it kills you."

"It can kill me?"

Lyra's expression was grave. "The human body wasn't meant to channel celestial energy directly. Every time you use the Keystone's power, it burns a little deeper into your soul. Use too much too fast, and..." She shrugged. "Let's just say there won't be enough left of you to bury."

They climbed into his car, and Kaelen started the engine with hands that only shook a little. As they pulled out of the parking lot, he caught sight of something in his rearview mirror that made his blood freeze.

A figure stood in the shadows beside the school—tall, imposing, wearing what looked like an expensive suit. Even at this distance, Kaelen could feel the weight of the man's gaze, could sense an intelligence that was both ancient and utterly ruthless.

"Lyra," he whispered.

She followed his gaze and cursed in a language that sounded like wind chimes and broken glass. "Custodian. They've found us already."

"What's a Custodian?"

"Human mages. The ones who built the Ward system in the first place." Her hand moved to something beneath her jacket—a weapon, he realized. "They don't take kindly to unauthorized interference with their work."

As they drove away, Kaelen saw more figures emerging from the shadows around the school. Men and women in dark clothing, all of them radiating the same aura of controlled power and barely contained menace.

"How many enemies do I have?" he asked.

"All of them," Lyra replied simply. "The Fallen want to devour your power. The Custodians want to contain or eliminate you before you can cause more damage. And the federal government wants to lock you up as a terrorist."

She settled back in her seat, violet eyes scanning the streets around them for threats.

"Welcome to the real Los Angeles, Kaelen Marcus. City of Angels... and the monsters that hunt them."

As if summoned by her words, something roared in the distance—a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the earth. Car alarms began wailing throughout the neighborhood, and Kaelen caught a glimpse of something massive moving between the downtown skyscrapers, its form blotting out the stars.

The Remnant had been just the beginning. Now the real hunt was starting, and Kaelen was both the prize and the prey.

He pressed harder on the accelerator, racing through streets that no longer felt like home. Behind them, the city he'd grown up in was transforming into something else entirely—a battlefield where the stakes were nothing less than the fate of eight million souls.

And at the center of it all was a fourteen-year-old kid who'd just wanted to make his mark on the world.

Be careful what you wish for, he thought grimly, as another inhuman howl split the night.

You just might get it.