Silence...

We rejoiced; cheers and chatter filled the room. As birds started chirping outdoors, sunlight filtered through the windows. I exhaled in relief, wiping the nonexistent sweat from my forehead, until I heard... Click! Clack! Click!

With distinct pauses, the footsteps echoed. I shuddered, real beads of sweat forming at the back of my forehead. I turned slowly, my ears ringing, as all the chatter faded away. A knot of dread mixed with hunger tied in my stomach, prickly and uncomfortable, when suddenly...

Well, well, well, Diana Tinotenda Hart, the Detective Chief Inspector from the Criminal Investigation Unit in London, has arrived.” A smooth, high-pitched voice echoed in my ears as I faced her.

I turned.

 It was her.

 My worst nightmare...

She had long silver hair and ruby-red eyes. The mole on her right cheek was a beautiful addition, enhancing her rosy lips, delicate skin, and curvaceous hourglass figure. She swayed in the wind, her beauty blinding, yet her voice grated on my nerves. A smirk crossed her face as she reached out, and an albino python crawled out of her rose-pink blouse, flicking its tongue and hissing. Its red eyes were slit vertically. She stroked the snake, smiling, and asked, “So, you’re here too. Unfortunately, our world has to have you here. Take a look at my system’s form—it’s so beautiful! What did you get? Must have been a rat or something!”

She boasted, her eyes brimming with confidence. I recoiled, backing away twenty metres. “What are you afraid of, snakes, dear Detective Chief Inspector?” she taunted. I felt a shiver as I rolled my eyes. Why… why do I always have to run into people I hate? I thought. Poke. Poke. I turned. Seeing the snake, that demonic system, Alita recoiled now that she was awake. I remember you! You almost got my essence erased! The python hissed; its predatory eyes glared at her. She said indignantly.

> 🧠 ** [Perspective: Alita the System—Emotional Calibration Mode Activated]**

That damned python.

Like a smug curse, it coiled around the woman’s shoulders, its scales shimmering with an oily iridescence. The stench hit me — sour, laced with something ancient. Not perfume. Not sweat. Snake.

I pinched my nose, eyes stinging. My mana stirred, defensive. A divine warning, the light reflected off Mama—Diana’s golden shift as she stood beside me.

She had spell craft. Deep, refined, perfectly attuned to her mana core. I focused my vision, channelling power into my eyes. With her heart pulsing, her chest lit up, and within it, an orb, almost colourless, was wrapped in a thick aura. Silver and gold veins spiralled outward, threading through her nerves like living circuitry.

Scanning lower, I saw a total of seven cores: one in her brain, two in her feet, two in her arms, and a single one in her womb. Mama was built like a war priestess.

I poked her. “Who is she?”

The woman rolled her shoulders. Her python hissed, tongue flicking toward me.

Mama leaned in. “Detective Chief Inspector Trinity Smirnova. Criminal Division. District Two, Glasgow.”

She sighed. “ Hah. We’ve been competing for three years. Military prowess, number of cases solved, and crime theory. Even cooking once.”

Her gaze lingered on Trinity. “For someone whose name means peaceful, she’s anything but.”

I studied Trinity’s aura — jagged, volatile. That snake wasn’t just a pet. It was bound to her. Watching me.

I didn’t trust her.

Miss Trinity bristled, her face darkening as she was about to retort.

“Diana! Diana! “I turned around. And that man, what was his name again... Ah, Raymond, mother’s cousin. He called out as he approached, tapping Mother’s shoulder. Crouching lower, his big black eyes stared at me in silence as he asked, “Is that your system? Looks a bit small... DOESN’T IT?” I pouted, cheeks red as I poked the man’s eyes. He stepped back, groaning in pain as he asked why I did that.

“Please don’t insult me, I’m the greatest system in existence with eternal knowledge,” I stated,  patting my chest in indignation as I flew around the man who had fallen from the force of my jab.

From Diana’s Perspective…

Hah. She did it again. I gently, but firmly, grabbed Alita by the scruff of her neck, offering Raymond a practised, apologetic smile. “What’s your spirit?” I asked.

His lips curved—soft, unreadable. Light shimmered, and then his system manifested: a man with midnight-black hair, piercing blue eyes, and ears that tapered like an elf’s. Slender, six-foot-one, radiating quiet power.

“Wow, look at that,” I said, tapping his system’s cheek. “What’s your name?”

“Cassel,” he replied.

I stared. Something in his face tugged at memory. I closed my eyes, and there he was—Tammy Hart. Sharp nose, sea-glass eyes. The gentle smile that greeted me when I dragged myself home from work. The excitement in his voice was when fresh flowers bloomed in our scrappy garden. Smiling eyes.

But no need to linger on introductions. Let’s skip ahead— To the moment the room turned electric.

People buzzed with excitement, tossing dreams like confetti. “If we succeed, I’ll go home and make money with these powers.” “Water manipulation—I can purify whole rivers.” “When I defeat the demon king, I want gold. Diamonds. I’ll be a billionaire.”

If only they’d known.

This wasn’t a gift. It was a death game. Marinated and roasted in honey and caramel.

Across the Hall, from the queen’s perspective…

“Your Majesty… did you see that woman?”

My voice trembled; my palms were slick with sweat. Fingers drummed against my skirts; nails bitten to the quick until they split skin. I locked my gaze on his. His jaw clenched. My heart pounded, blood surging hot to my temples as I gripped him tighter.

He brushed my hands aside and looked up, the light in his eyes imperceptibly dimmer. “My queen, don’t worry. I have a plan. She won’t intervene in the battle. My advisors have found a way to bring her back—bring Emma back. We just need to find the stone… the Philosopher’s Stone, or the one who holds the anomalous card.”

“But, Your Majesty, didn’t the Grand Curator say the sacred child was among them? Isn’t it that girl? Even the Universal Travellers’ last disciple agrees with Ms. Ariadne Vance.” My heart raced as I stole glances at her—the memory of those piercing azure eyes echoing in my mind. My brows drew tight.

“We have to do something. That girl is a threat to us… she might be able to—”

I never finished. His gaze turned to ice, the light collapsing into a void. His grip on my hands tightened until pain bloomed in my fingers.

“Women shouldn’t ask too many questions. I’ll handle it.”

Then—

Silence…

The air thickened. The room was slightly cold as the conversation lingered in the atmosphere. The king leaned in to whisper to his queen. Their children sat quietly, observing with fingers tapping nervously and sweat trickling down their brows.

Ten agonising minutes later……

 The king cleared his throat. His gaze swept the room like a blade. “Since you have chosen your ability,” he said, “it is time we check the level of your power.”

“Power level… Hell no, I sense some deception here, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check my power level,” I said, turning away. “What? Are you afraid of showing your true self?” Trinity mocked, smacking her lips as she adjusted her makeup. A snake hissed as it coiled around her waist. Whispers echoed in the room.

“Power level? I hope it’s like those RPG games or Solo Levelling or something...” The black-haired fifteen-year-old American boy locked his eyes on his Nintendo Switch, thumbs flying across the buttons. His friends huddled nearby, screens glowing as they played together.

“Hah, man, my legs hurt. Being pregnant is so hard. At least my husband is here.” The light-brown-haired woman leaned into the man beside her, her hands trembling as she gripped his arm. Her swollen belly pressed against a little brown-haired five-year-old who clung to her maternity dress.

“I need to take my blood sugar medicine, Abi, na insulin?” (I need to take my blood sugar medicine, or was it insulin?) The Nigerian man—about thirty-five—dug through a medium-sized medicine bag, fingers rifling through pill bottles and packets with growing urgency.

“Sinto falta da mamãe e do tio.” (I miss Mum and Uncle.) The five-year-old girl clutched a small wooden doll, her voice barely a whisper. A thirteen-year-old girl gripped her hand, face pale as she mumbled under her breath.

“Damn, they summoned me before I could complete my SATs.” The blond-haired seventeen-year-old boy blinked hard and spoke aloud, his voice flat with disbelief.

“What’s the point of hard work? I was summoned before I could get my paycheck.” The middle-aged man wiped sweat from his forehead, muttering as he fanned himself with one hand and rubbed his temple with the other.

“Attention, since we have got the selection of the ability out of the way, the saint will finally do the last step—the power levels. ” Eyes looked up, as a woman, the queen spoke. She gestured. Two servants paced out, holding a crystal orb.

“Now the saint shall assess your ability. It’s a straightforward process,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips. For a moment, our eyes met, and her gaze was piercing. I noticed her eyes widen in shock as she stopped and mouthed, “Is that you?” She coughed and blinked, breaking our eye contact, and a chill ran down my spine. She turned away, continuing to gesture excitedly and speak in a clear voice.

“Magical power is ranked into six distinct levels: S-rank, A-rank, B-rank, C-rank, D-rank, and E-rank. S-rank is the highest,” the queen announced, a small smile frozen on her lips.

Here’s a tightened, more atmospheric rewrite of your scene that retains all your imagery and beats, but sharpens the pacing, sensory layering, and flow, allowing the tension to build more cleanly and the horror to land more effectively. I’ve also smoothed out the grammar, varied the sentence rhythm, and made the transitions between visions more fluid.

The saint stepped into the centre of the room, each click of her heels echoing in the thick, expectant silence. In her hands, she cradled a clear orb that caught the light like frozen water. Breath slowed across the hall; anticipation pressed down like a weight.

“The order in which you will receive the divine messages,” she announced, “is determined by the hierarchy of the divine systems.”

Hearts quickened. Fingers fidgeted. Courtiers and courtesans fanned themselves in small, nervous motions, their chatter shrinking to a hush.

One. Two. Three.

Bloop.

Darkness swallowed the hall. Sound vanished. Movements slowed to a syrupy crawl.

And then—

Revela mihi fragmentum. Deus, libera me a malo. (Reveal to me a fragment. God, deliver me from evil.)

The phrase pulsed in my mind. Once. Twice. Three times. Each repetition is heavier, as though carved into the air itself.

Whispers slithered through the void.

Whoosh.

I opened my eyes to the stench of rot—eggs gone sour, fish left to die in the sun. A voice, neither near nor far, whispered:

Beware the crow with dove’s wings. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. Salt disguised as sugar. Evil masked as delight.

A figure emerged: the Grand Curator. His long, slender fingers extended toward a girl.

She was drenched, her skin slick and glistening. Hollow sockets gaped where her eyes should have been. Hair hung in tangled ropes like seaweed. Her flesh festered with green and yellow swellings, pulsing and weeping pus.

Her pale, sticky fingers slid across my cheek. Her voice rasped—broken, wet sounds, more moan than speech. Her lips moved, but no words came. She beckoned me closer.

I leaned in. Closer. Closer still.

Until—

“The fate of God leans to the left… the fate of the Devil to the right… the fate of the Angel rests in the centre. Beware the crow that calls, for death awaits the bearer of the anomalous card.” A hoarse whisper escaped the woman’s lips, he slimy finger gripping my wrist.

I jerked back, arms trembling. A spike of pain split my skull. Blood trickled from my nose. Images flashed through my mind like a silent film—too fast, too sharp.

Something tore at me. My soul wrenched free from my body. A chain snapped tight around my ankle and dragged me toward an unseen destination.

And then—

Fire.

A raging pyre. People bound to wooden stakes, flames licking at their feet before swallowing them whole. The fire burned blue—unnatural, demonic. Screams and wails rose into the air, tangled with the cheers of the crowd.

I clawed at the chain, fingers straining, but more visions crashed over me in a relentless tide—like the first time I entered the system, only darker. Different.

Crowds ran, screaming. The ground split open. The sky collapsed. Meteors rained down—not just on Earth, but across every universe. Floods surged. Tsunamis roared. Volcanoes erupted. Plagues spread. Monsters poured into the streets. Mutations twisted flesh. Famines hollowed cities. Chemical and biological warfare scorched the air.

Then—

A woman. Hair black as pitch, standing in a sea of corpses. Blood pooled at her feet in rivers. Her hair turned silver as a stone—red, crimson—formed from the blood. Around her, rotting carcasses fused, reshaping into a colossal eye that stared down from above.

Gates tore open in the sky, bleeding darkness. A screech split the air. An armada of jagged, visceral shapes poured through.

And then—

Silence.

To be continued.....