Malachai opened his eyes at the first ray of sunlight filtering through the blinds. It was Sunday, and the clock read 6:45 a.m. His body, now a temple of superhuman strength, felt rested, ready for the long day ahead.
The house was in complete silence. No sound of the coffee maker gurgling in the kitchen, no soft footsteps of Cory preparing breakfast. He went down the stairs barefoot, feeling the cold marble under his feet, but his body regulated temperature perfectly, he felt not the slightest discomfort.
He entered the kitchen. There, on the polished surface, lay a carefully folded note written in his mother's elegant but trembling handwriting.
'I left early for the office. I have an important hearing. We'll talk when I get back. Please don't hate me. I love you. Mom.'
Malachai read it once and a cold smile spread across his thin lips, the kind of smile that never reached his eyes but spoke of meticulous plans and restrained desires.
'I don't hate you, Mom. That kiss the other night was like lighting a fire that water can't put out. Guilt is eating you alive, but I'll use it to pull you closer. When I come back with the dagger, I'm going to make progress. I'm going to make you stop running and accept what you feel. Because I feel it too. And there's no going back with me.'
He poured himself a black coffee, no sugar, and drank it standing by the window, gazing out at the neighborhood.
The restored Victorian houses, the impeccable gardens, the gray Maine sky promising rain. Everything looked so normal, so mundane, but beneath the town, people didn't know that the terror of their worst nightmares pulsed: Pennywise. Lurking in the sewers, restless spirits in the shadows waiting to hunt their prey, and him with his own power growing like an impending storm.
He finished the coffee in one gulp and left the cup in the sink, his mind was already focused on Route 17 and Maturin's dagger.
His phone vibrated, breaking the silence.
Betty: "Good morning, my boyfriend 😊 Want to have breakfast together? Polly wants to see you too. She says after the clown thing she needs 'positive energy.' Come at 8? I miss you already."
A genuine warmth spread through his chest, something that contrasted with the usual coldness of his calculations. Betty wasn't a conquest, she was his anchor in this twisted world, the first one who had chosen him without reservation. With a sigh he replied quickly, his plans would have to wait a little longer.
Malachai: "Coming now, darling. Let me take a quick shower first. I love you."
Betty: "I love you too 💕💕 Hurry up, big guy."
This time Malachai smiled for real, a smile that softened his sharp features.
At exactly 8:00 he knocked on the Coopers' door.
Betty opened almost immediately, her scent of vanilla and fresh soap washing over him like a warm wave. Her blonde hair fell loose in perfect waves over her shoulders. An oversized pastel-pink sweater draped loosely over her torso but couldn't hide the soft curves of her breasts and hips. Below, short shorts revealed her long, pale legs. Her large, expressive blue eyes lit up when she saw him, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.
"Hi…" She whispered, her voice soft and polite, but carrying a hint of desire that only he could recognize.
Malachai stepped inside and pulled her to him by the waist, his large hands enveloping her petite frame. He kissed her slowly, deeply, exploring her mouth with a tenderness that contrasted with his strength. Betty sighed against his lips, her small fingers clinging to the black t-shirt stretched tight across his muscular chest. The kiss lingered, their tongues brushing with growing intimacy, until Polly appeared in the doorway, hair messy, wearing an old rock-band t-shirt and baggy pajama pants.
"Ugh, get a room." Polly said, but her tone was playful, and a genuine smile lit her face even though, for some reason, her mouth tasted bitter when she looked at them.
She still had faint dark circles from the restless nights after the encounter with Pennywise, but seeing Malachai seemed to ease her.
"Thanks for coming, Mal. After the clown thing… I didn't want to be alone today."
Malachai released Betty with a faint smile.
"No problem, Polly."
Betty had prepared a tray with perfect scrambled eggs, crispy toast, fresh orange juice, and three coffees.
They ate breakfast on the porch under the cloudy sky. The conversation started light: Betty talked about the debate club, how Veronica and Cheryl were still competing for the spotlight, but now with a hint of mutual respect.
Polly chimed in with anecdotes from her job at the local café, laughing when Malachai made a dry but clever comment. Betty never let go of his hand under the table, their fingers intertwined, her foot occasionally brushing his thigh in a subtle gesture that sent growing heat through Malachai's body.
"You're incredible, Malachai." Betty said at one point, looking at him with those big, expressive eyes full of adoration. "Not just for saving Polly that night, but for… being you. You make me feel so safe, so loved."
Polly nodded, biting into a piece of toast. "Yeah, thank you again. That clown… I still dream about him. But knowing you're around helps. What are you doing today? Anything exciting?"
Malachai squeezed Betty's hand under the table, his thumb tracing slow circles on her palm. "Something important. But tonight… are you coming over, Betty? Just us. I want to be with you."
Betty bit her lower lip, a nervous but anticipatory gesture. "I'll be there. Be careful, okay? I don't know what you're going to do, but… sometimes I feel you're distant. I won't pry into what you have to do, but if you ever need my help with anything, you know you can always count on me."
He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering for a second, inhaling her scent. "Always. And you, beautiful, are my world now."
Polly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "You two are disgustingly cute. But seriously, Mal, if that clown comes back… can you handle him?"
Malachai looked at Polly with that unsettling intensity. "I'll handle him. No one touches either of you."
Breakfast stretched on for another hour, filled with laughter and chatter. At one point, when Polly went inside for more juice, Betty sat on his lap and kissed him with restrained passion, her hands on the back of his neck, her body pressing against his. Malachai responded, one hand on her lower back, brushing the edge of her shorts, feeling the heat of her skin.
When they finished, he said goodbye, gave Polly a brief hug, she blushed a little feeling Malachai's chiseled muscles.
Then Malachai kissed Betty one last time, long and deep, before walking away toward his house. But he didn't go in.
Two blocks away, in a dead end alley behind an abandoned house, he looked up at the sky. Low, dense clouds, gray like cannon smoke. Perfect for cover.
He focused on his body and began to levitate. His feet left the ground and he shot upward into the sky. The wind hit him head on like an invisible wall, roaring in his ears, whipping his brown hair. He accelerated higher, breaking through the cloud layer with a dull boom, hiding himself in their damp thickness.
Absolute freedom.
The world below became small, insignificant.
Riverdale spread out like a miniature map, houses like dots, the Kenduskeag River just a line among dense trees, cars moving like slow insects. The wind was fierce, cold, but his body felt none of it, the ship had made him immune, his skin regenerating instantly against any abrasion. He flew faster, higher, the speed turning the landscape into a green and gray blur.
The air was pure and for a moment Malachai let euphoria flood him.
'This is power. Not just strength, but freedom. I can go anywhere, take whatever I want. Betty is mine, Cory will fall soon, Beth waits for me with lust, Maria, Veronica, and Cheryl… they will all be mine and no one will stop me from taking what I want.'
But first, the dagger. To protect them. To rule this Horrorverse, I need it. Once I get rid of Pennywise, I'll be calmer. If I want to live in peace, I'll have to kill and hunt down all those monsters scattered around.
Route 17 appeared like a gray scar cutting through the forest. He slowed, spiraled gently downward, and landed precisely in a clearing a hundred meters from the house.
The mansion rose before him like a forgotten corpse. Peeling paint in shades that had once been white, now yellowish and cracked like dead skin. Broken windows like empty eyes, jagged glass hanging like teeth. Black ivy climbed the walls and the air smelled of rotten wood and mold.
He walked toward the front door, boots crunching on dry leaves. He extended his hand, concentrating. The rusted lock groaned, turned by itself, and the door opened with his telekinesis. He was also using his time perception in case anything unexpected happened.
He stepped into the vestibule, dust floated in the rays of light slipping through the cracks. Broken furniture lay scattered, a sunken sofa, an overturned table with broken legs. Family photos hung crooked on the walls: frozen smiles of people who no longer existed. A family of five with their eyes scratched out in black marker. Another of three, faces erased by time.
He climbed the stairs, each step creaking under his weight. In the second floor hallway he found the first symbols, crude carvings in the faded wood, a turtle with its shell open like a radiant sun.
Below, letters carved with a knife.
'Maturin watches us. His tooth wounds the devourer of fears, the one who comes every 27 years.'
Malachai smiled coldly, his blue eyes gleaming in the dimness.
The dagger. I'm close.