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Challenge of the Week LXXVII
This week we're going to try something different. Very different. Sort this challenge feed by newest. Read the most recent post, then continue it. Posts will be constrained to 700 words, so nobody has to read a novella before writing their own entry. When evaluating, we'll read the posts in order, from oldest to newest. Feel free to depart from the previous author stylistically, thematically, or in whichever way you choose, though your entry should be somehow connected to the previous entry. If the previous post is nonsensical, or otherwise hopelessly salvageable, continue from the most recent post you can. (If you do elect to continue from a different post, it'd be helpful if you could indicate which post you're continuing from). We'll write the first sentence. "The dream came to an abrupt end when the hysterical ringing of the telephone split the midnight silence."

James Burns

Much worse, he thought to himself, flicking ash off his cigarette and stepping out of the shadows to follow Angela. But he could live with doing a little worse if it meant getting revenge on Carlos.

James Burns was never supposed to be born. As unnatural as a frigid inferno or a planet orbiting around a black hole, he belonged neither in the human world nor in the demonic underbelly. A hybrid who shared compassion and cruelty, a lust for creation and a lust for destruction; he had to hide his true origin for as long as he remembered. His existence alone was a defiance to the laws governing earth and his mother was the one who paid the price. He never met her, for he was condemned to kill her as soon as he took his first breath, but her voice still echoed in his mind, singing lullabies while still in the womb. He remembered the warmth of her love when she’d rub her belly and read fairytales to her unborn—it was the blessing and curse of his duality and the nourishment of his hatred. Yes, James Burns was prepared to do anything to get revenge on Carlos; the creature who sowed him, the demon who bestowed a taste for murder on him, the father who gifted him the thirst for blood, and soon the half-breed would return the favor...

James would watch the earth burn and be reborn again if it meant fulfilling his life’s purpose. He had waited an eon for the perfect candidate, the missing piece, the correct pawn to set his plan into motion, and, of all the minions his father leashed, Angela was far the most promising. She nurtured the right amount of aversion for James to exploit in convincing her to switch sides and the rebellious personality to encourage her to fight back. He had to find a way to summon her. Tiptoeing between the world of the living and the kingdom of monsters came with limitations. No mortal could come within arm’s reach without feeling the chill of corruption in their hearts. As for a mortal who carried the Mark, he was as bare to their gaze as the shadow of an atom under a microscope. Should he ever approached her without permission, should she ever saw his true form, Angela’s sanity without a doubt would be ripped to shreds and then she’d be useless to him.

He trailed her back to her house and lingered outside, contemplating on his next move—if she kept rejecting his card, he’d have to try a different way—when, through the walls, his eyes caught a glimpse that seemed imperceptible to everyone but the marked human. It crackled with energy that tingled his skin. It called to him but at the same time stung like a porcupine wiggling inside his brain. His mind circled back to the exchange he witnessed in the dark alley, the mysterious box and the golden lock, and a gear snapped into place, forcing a gasp out of him. It couldn’t be... He couldn’t possibly be so lucky as to have stumbled upon the Possessor, right?