CARNIS (English Version)

Los Angeles, in the distance, still trembled with the city's constant hum, but in the small room where Daytona slept, the silence seemed suspended in time.

Martin had fallen asleep in a sleeping bag near the door, earbuds in, soft music playing low. The window let in the shy glow of the moon.

Daytona stirred under the sheets, restless.

Then her eyes opened — inside the dream.

The sky was black and red, as if burning in silence. The landscape before her was distorted — pulsing flesh writhing as if alive, structures rising from giant bones, spirals of blue smoke twisting from the ground. In the distance, a colossal throne made of ribs, tongues, and closed eyes. Upon it, a figure sat, head bowed.

"You came too soon, Daytona."

The voice echoed inside her mind.

The figure lifted its face. Belzebub.

The goat's jawbone he wore as a mask grinned without moving, and eyes dark as black holes gleamed behind it. His claws touched the armrest of the throne, making the flesh shudder.

"This is my throne in Setealem. Where gluttony devours even thoughts. Where kings feed on kings."

Daytona felt the ground melt under her feet, as if the entire dream were alive — and hungry.

"What is this? Why am I here?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

"You saw me in the mirror of the world. One day, the portal won't close. And you will sit on this throne, Daytona. But not yet."

Belzebub's mouth didn't move, but she heard everything, as if it were thought itself.

"You don't need to run from what you are. You're already feeding. You already feel the power. And me? I'm only here to make sure you survive it."

Daytona's heart pounded faster. There was truth in every word — and that made her nervous.

"You just want to use me, don't you?"

"Use you?"

Belzebub rose. His height dwarfed Daytona's.

"Daytona, you're already my daughter by right. You hunger because you were born to reign. And the throne of Setealem already bows to your presence. You only need to accept it."

The landscape erupted in living flesh, as if the dream collapsed on itself. Daytona fell backward and jolted awake.

Her body was drenched in sweat, the room still dark. Martin kept sleeping.

She sat up in bed, struggling to steady her breath. "What the hell was that?" she thought.

And then, the soft, subtle voice echoed again, even now, awake:

"Soon… you'll understand."

The next morning, Daytona showered in silence. She avoided talking about the dream with Martin, even when he asked if she'd slept well. She said she had. A lie.

They left the small hotel and walked along the sidewalk to a diner for breakfast. Daytona chewed distractedly on a piece of toast. Belzebub's words hammered inside her skull.

Then the diner's bell rang.

A man walked in. Tall, wearing a black leather jacket, ripped jeans, worn boots. A necklace with a gear pendant hung around his neck. Short white hair. Gray eyes, cold. Recognizable from far away.

Ghost.

Daytona choked on her coffee. He stared at her, striding to their table as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn't vanished for days.

"You're still alive. That's good."

"Where were you?" Daytona asked, trying to hide the anger in her voice.

"In places you don't need to know about. Not yet."

Martin stayed quiet, alert.

Ghost pulled out a chair and sat like he owned the place. From his pocket, he produced an old flash drive and set it on the table.

"You want to know what Setealem is? Who the demons are?" He smiled. "It's time you started studying."

"You knew I'd dream of him?" Daytona's fists clenched.

"No, but I'm not surprised. If you're really bound to the Third King, those mental links will become common. Even more so as your soul adjusts."

Martin leaned in.

"Third King? There are others?"

Ghost nodded.

"Setealem has seven thrones. Seven kings. One for each sin. Belzebub, Lucifer, Leviathan, Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, and Belphegor. Each one rules a fragment of chaos. Each was once an angel. The difference is they won — and became gods in the rot."

Silence settled like a weight.

"And Belzebub?" Daytona asked. "What was he?"

Ghost crossed his arms.

"A lost essence. He was once a Cherubim — but he fell. Worthy of a Capital Sin."

Daytona froze. For a moment, she thought Ghost was lying — but something in the way he spoke said otherwise.

"If you want, I can show you records, photos, fragments. It'll be heavy. But if you really want to understand what you're becoming… you need to stare straight into the abyss."

Daytona took a deep breath. She looked at Martin, who gave her a small nod.

"Show me."

Ghost grabbed the flash drive and gestured for them to follow. They left the diner and walked three blocks to an old building. Ghost unlocked a hidden door in the back with a keycard. Inside: a makeshift basement full of monitors, scattered papers, metal boxes marked with brands burned into them.

"This was my info vault before I disappeared," he muttered, powering up the computer.

The screens flickered on. Records about Setealem appeared — blurred photos, scribbled symbols, names of the fallen, dates that made no sense. And then — images.

"Is that… inside Setealem?" Daytona murmured.

"Yeah. I got it from a woman named Erel — demon hunter, probably dead now. But she lived long enough to film this."

The images showed the same landscape from Daytona's dream — living flesh, bone towers, a purple sky torn by black lightning.

Daytona's body trembled.

"The portal you saw was real. They're opening more often. And it's not coincidence. It's a calling. You're being invited."

Belzebub whispered again in her mind:

"When the flesh accepts you, you won't need to sleep to see me."

She stepped back from the screen.

"Enough. That's enough for today."

Ghost didn't argue. He only nodded.

Martin followed her outside.

Deep down, Daytona knew: the link between her and Setealem was no longer a question of if — but when.

And the when was getting closer — fast.

That afternoon, Los Angeles's breeze felt colder than usual.

Daytona walked ahead, her stride firm, her eyes locked on the sidewalk as if she could crush every stone beneath her feet. Martin trailed just behind, hesitant, searching for the right words.

"You okay?"

She didn't answer right away. She just kept walking, crossing the avenue to a nearly empty park. She sat on a rusted bench. The gray sky mirrored the mood growing inside her.

"All that…" Martin said carefully. "The images… Ghost… the throne… it's real, isn't it?"

Daytona let out a long, weary sigh. She looked at her own hands, remembering the feeling of living flesh in her dreams. The power now flowing through her veins like a hungry river.

"I don't know what's scarier," she murmured. "What I saw… or how natural it feels. Like I belong there."

Martin sat next to her. For a moment, they said nothing. They just let the silence fill the space between them.

Then Daytona felt a faint hum at the base of her neck. A shiver. Like a subtle wave of warmth passing through her body. It wasn't hunger — it was something else.

"Did you feel that?" she asked.

"Feel what?"

She stood, eyes scanning the surroundings. The park looked the same — but something was… off.

The air rippled at a single point near a dead tree. A small tear in space. Almost invisible, like reality was stitched wrong right there.

"Martin, look."

He followed her gaze and held his breath.

"Is that another portal?"

Daytona walked slowly to the spot. The air felt thick. Warm. And before she could touch it, the rift vanished — like a bubble bursting in the air.

Complete silence.

"This is happening more often," she said, eyes fixed on the empty spot. "And I'm starting to feel it before it happens."

"Daytona…" Martin began. "Do you think you're going to… change? Like, really change?"

She turned to him. Her eyes held something ancient. Something Belzebub was awakening.

"I'm already changing."

That night, Ghost led them to an abandoned warehouse. He said he wanted to show them something important — something that might connect Daytona directly to what was coming.

"You know the story of the first human contact with Setealem?" Ghost asked, switching on a flashlight as they descended a dusty old stairway.

"No," Martin answered. Daytona stayed silent.

"It was a scientist named Elijah Crane. He was obsessed with life after death. Believed the human soul could project itself into lower planes of existence… and that these planes were ruled by entities born from human sin.

In the end, he managed to open a portal."

"And he survived?" Daytona asked.

Ghost gave a bitter smile.

"No. But what came back through the portal wasn't just him anymore. It was the first known manifestation of Behemoth."

At the back of the room, Ghost pulled a dirty cloth off a reinforced glass cage. Inside was an object bound in metal chains. It looked like a fragment of bone — but it pulsed slowly, like it had a heartbeat.

"That's…"

"A fragment of Behemoth. I don't know how it slipped through. But this thing… it tries to call for living flesh. It tries to link with anything that's hungry."

Daytona stepped closer to the cage. The fragment's pulse quickened.

A wave of nausea hit her. Then… a wave of desire. Something inside her begged to touch it. To devour it. To become it.

Belzebub's voice echoed in her mind — calm, almost instructive:

"Each fragment is a seed. If you touch it, it will awaken parts of you you don't even know yet. The question is… are you ready for that, Daytona?"

She pulled her hand back.

"Not yet."

Ghost watched her in silence — as if he'd expected exactly that answer.

"You did the right thing. Knowing when to retreat is just as important as knowing when to advance."

Martin stepped closer too, fascinated and terrified.

"If that's just a piece… what are the real bodies like?"

Ghost answered with just one word.

"Infinite."

In the middle of the night, back in the room, Daytona lay awake staring at the ceiling.

She knew that with each passing day, she was closer to that. To being that.

But she also knew she still had choices. She could still cling to what remained of the ordinary girl she'd once been.

Or was it already too late?

Belzebub laughed softly in her mind, like a father satisfied with his daughter's progress.

"You're doing well, Daytona. Setealem already whispers your name."

She didn't answer. She just closed her eyes, determined to sleep without dreaming.

Even knowing that with each breath, the burning throne was waiting. And sooner or later, she would hear its call.