“I must hurry,” said the woman in a light blue suit as she clutched a folder, descending in the elevator. Her hair was black and silky, and she wore elegant glasses that framed her anxious eyes.

  “This is my first day and I’m already late. This is bad,” she muttered under her breath.

  The elevator came to a stop with a soft chime. As the doors slid open, two men stood before her, clad in striking white-and-blue armor — unlike anything she had seen in any military division.

  “This way, ma’am,” one of them said firmly.

  They escorted her down a long, silent corridor. The path ended at a door that appeared modern but was etched with holy inscriptions glowing faintly along its frame. She hesitated, then placed her hand on the handle and stepped through. The guards did not follow.

  Inside was another hallway, its walls lined with the same ancient inscriptions. Amanda clenched the file tighter to her chest, her fingers trembling slightly. Her left arm crossed protectively over her heart as she walked, the only sound her echoing footsteps. She reached a massive door at the end, took a breath, and pushed it open.

  “You’re late, Miss Amanda,” a man in a dark suit said the moment she stepped in. He stood just inside, arms crossed.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jack. There was traffic on the way,” she replied quickly. She recognized him — her manager.

  “Quickly now, the meeting is about to start,” he said, extending his hand. “Give me the file.”

  “Yes… yes, sir,” she stammered and handed it over.

  She glanced around the chamber. The underground room buzzed with tension. Thick stone walls, carved centuries ago, echoed with murmurs and prayers. Arcs of soft amber light lit the domed ceiling, glinting off the polished steel of military uniforms and ceremonial robes.

  Around a massive oval table sat representatives of every major faith — imams, priests, rabbis, monks, and even scholars from long-forgotten sects. Behind them, dozens of digital screens displayed world leaders tuning in via encrypted video feeds. Generals from various nations stood like statues along the perimeter, hands clasped behind their backs.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  At the head of the table, engraved in ancient gold, the word EDEN glowed faintly.

  One of the screens flickered to life. A grainy security feed played: a woman walking alone down an alley in S?o Paulo. A shadow dropped from above. Screams. Blood. The screen went black.

  Father Thomas, seated upright with a pale face, made the sign of the cross before speaking.

  “That was the third attack this week in Brazil. All signs point to a Class II ghoul — strong, fast, but not intelligent. It fed and fled. The press labeled it gang violence.”

  Another video began. News footage from Cairo — a bus overturned, windows shattered, passengers missing. In the corner, if one looked closely, a pale figure moved unnaturally through the flames.

  Pastor Lucian narrowed his eyes.

  “A demon,” he said plainly. “The victims were drained. Nothing left but bones and skin. The government called it a fuel tank explosion.”

  A third video rolled: home security footage from Tokyo. A man entered his house late at night. Something waited in the corner — red eyes. Then static.

  Father Thomas leaned forward, voice weary. “It’s always the same. They kill quietly. The world keeps spinning. And we let it happen — just enough to avoid chaos.”

  The generals remained motionless. One of the monitors lit up — General Hawthorne of the United States appeared, arms crossed, his voice sharp.

  “We’ve seen enough. You religious leaders may be comfortable with shadows and secrets, but this is war. It’s time we strike hard. Clean them out. No more games.”

  Silence followed.

  Father Thomas turned to face the screen. “And tell the world what? That monsters are real? That demons walk among them? You’ll cause more death with fear than with claws.”

  “We’re not ready for global panic,” Pastor Lucian added. “People will turn on each other. Anyone who looks strange. Sounds strange. Believes differently.”

  General Hawthorne didn’t respond. He simply stared.

  No one else spoke.

  At last, Father Thomas exhaled. “Then we keep doing what we’ve always done. Fight in silence. Watch. Wait.”

  “And hope that a miracle finds us before the end does.” Pastor Lucian said softly, his eyes fixed on the flickering footage.

  In the center of the table, the golden word EDEN glowed faintly, as if listening.