CARNIS (English Version)

The night in Los Angeles seemed quieter than usual. The streets, lit by distant lampposts, cast strange shadows over the sleeping city.

Daytona walked alone, her boots tapping rhythmically against the asphalt. Something weighed on her mind — a silent call, a sensation pulling her away from the familiar eyes of Martin and Huracán.

A cold wind blew against her face, tossing her dark hair as she moved farther from the neighborhood.

Belzebub, silent until then, appeared in her mind like a whisper.

"Do you feel it, little one? Something… curious ahead."

His voice was deep, almost amused, as if he savored the mystery.

Daytona didn't answer. Her body moved on instinct, drawn toward an abandoned part of the city.

After minutes of walking, the buildings gave way to forgotten structures — old warehouses, factories lost to time.

The place smelled strongly of mold and rust. Each step she took echoed through the empty corridors.

It was as if the world had gone silent, respecting her presence.

Belzebub spoke again, softer this time.

"This kind of silence… is rare. Listen to it. Let it guide your steps."

Daytona frowned, stopping in front of an old textile factory. The large metal door was slightly ajar, creaking with the wind.

Without hesitation, she stepped inside.

The interior was even stranger.

Torn fabrics hung from the ceiling like ruined banners. The dusty floor held old footprints that vanished into the shadows.

With every movement Daytona made, small particles danced in the air, revealed by the moonlight streaming through broken windows.

She walked slowly, senses sharpened.

The atmosphere felt heavy but not threatening — only… mournful. As if the place grieved its own abandonment.

"Keep going." — Belzebub murmured, like encouraging a child's first step.

Daytona moved down a narrow hallway, guided only by the faint light and her instinct.

At the end, she found a circular room.

At the center, on top of a broken table, something lay neatly folded: a black cloak, made from a fabric that looked as if it had outlasted time.

She approached it cautiously.

The fabric was heavy yet pleasant to the touch — it felt like it had been made for her.

No emblems, no special stitching, no magic woven into it.

Just a simple cloak… yet Daytona felt as if it belonged to her.

"Curious…" — said Belzebub, intrigued. "No magical value… but sometimes, the things we choose to carry say more about us than the weapons we wield."

Daytona smirked. Without a second thought, she threw the cloak over her shoulders.

Its weight felt strange at first but then settled perfectly, as if it were part of her body.

She turned to her reflection in a cracked glass pane on the wall.

The new image of herself… pleased her.

There was something about partially covering her body with that piece — a sense of symbolic protection, a silent reminder of her journey — of what she had faced, of what she would face.

"You look… intimidating," Belzebub commented, his voice sounding almost proud.

Daytona gave the silent factory one last look.

Nothing else called to her. It was as if the place had been preserved just for this moment — as if the cloak had been waiting.

She pulled the hood up, partially hiding her face, and stepped back into the sleeping city, the fabric trailing behind her.

If before her presence drew eyes, now, under the black shroud of the cloak, she moved like a shadow between Los Angeles's pale lights.

No sound, no trace.

Belzebub remained silent, as if respecting the moment.

Daytona knew: the real battle was still to come.

But that night, as she headed home, she felt… strangely whole.

Ready.

Dawn painted the Los Angeles sky in shy shades of blue and orange.

Daytona reached the house where she and her friends were staying, the first rays of light touching her new cloak like a silent blessing.

Martin, still lying on the couch, cracked open an eye lazily and, seeing Daytona's hooded silhouette enter through the door, jolted upright.

"Damn, Daytona… you almost gave me a heart attack," he muttered, rubbing his face.

She just gave a small smile, pulling the hood back to reveal her face.

Martin relaxed a bit, but his eyes still scanned her new look, as if he felt something different — something… more serious.

"Where'd you get that cloak?" he asked, curious.

Daytona shrugged.

"Found it," she answered, blunt, as if it didn't matter.

Belzebub, ever watchful, chuckled softly in her mind.

"The best treasures are found… not conquered."

Martin seemed ready to ask more, but sleep won over curiosity.

He just nodded and burrowed back under the old blanket he used to shield himself from the morning chill.

Daytona sat in the chair by the window, watching the distant city stirring awake.

She felt… different. Not because of the cloak itself, but because of what it represented.

For the first time, it felt like her identity was taking shape — not just a girl possessed by something terrible, but Daytona, a force of her own.

The day passed strangely uneventful.

Martin and Huracán left to get supplies and study at the public library. Daytona stayed behind.

Alone in the house, her new "uniform" draped over her shoulders, she let her thoughts wander.

Belzebub, sensing the silence, spoke.

"You're changing."

His voice was deep but not hostile. There was almost… respect.

Daytona didn't answer right away.

She looked at her hand — the same hand that, days ago, crushed the life out of a schoolmate without effort.

"I'm getting stronger. More dangerous," she murmured to herself.

"Strength and danger are brothers, Daytona," Belzebub said calmly. "The difference lies in how you choose to wield them."

She fell silent. She didn't want to say it out loud, but… there was something addictive in that feeling of power.

Something that called from deep inside her soul.

While she thought, a sound outside the house caught her attention.

Feet dragging along the sidewalk — a strange, unsteady presence.

Curious, Daytona pulled the hood over her head again and crept to the window.

Outside, in the middle of the empty street, a grotesque figure shuffled forward slowly.

It looked human… but something was wrong.

The skin was grayish, eyes dull, every movement stiff, like it was being controlled.

Belzebub growled in her mind.

"Corrupted. Weak, but still… a plague."

Daytona felt the hunger pulse faintly inside her — not as intense as before.

Controllable.

Without hesitation, she slipped out the back door, determined to intercept the creature.

She moved like a shadow, the black cloak blending perfectly with the darkness around her.

In seconds, she stood before the creature.

It let out a guttural noise and fled — a strange, jerky run.

Daytona was about to pounce when Belzebub shouted in her mind.

"Wait. Watch."

Confused, she stopped.

The Corrupted stumbled over itself, then staggered into an alleyway between two buildings.

Daytona followed it silently.

At the end of the alley, a strange light flickered — a rift, like a wound torn in reality.

Daytona's eyes widened.

Through the opening, she glimpsed something… colossal.

A sky of endless gray, lands covered in twisted structures, shadowy forms moving slowly under a suffocating atmosphere.

It was only a glimpse, but Daytona knew instantly: that was Setealem.

The Corrupted threw itself into the rift — and as quickly as it appeared, the portal vanished, leaving behind only the sharp smell of iron and rot.

Daytona stood frozen for long moments, processing what she had seen.

Belzebub chuckled softly.

"Curious, isn't it? My homeland…

A place where monsters and kings bathed in sin coexist in eternal hunger."

She took a deep breath, pulling the cloak tighter around her.

She knew that, sooner or later, she would have to face that place — Setealem was calling her, and not just for the power she carried.

Something bigger was at play.

But for now, she turned and walked back home, her figure melting into the shadows of the dawn.

She knew it wasn't time yet.

Not yet.

END OF SEASON ONE.

Season 2 Coming Soon!