The Demon Hunters and Leheb wasted no time. They traveled by air to Turkey, and from there by sea to the waters near Cyprus. They had not set foot on the island, yet the tension brewing on land was palpable out on the water as well; warships prowled the area, leaving no doubt. Fortunately, neither side—unwilling to provoke a new enemy—dared to interfere with a German-flagged vessel.

The Demon Hunters reached the waters at the coordinates Teresa had given them. Through binoculars, they observed the surroundings and spotted both the large black cruise ship Teresa had mentioned, and, a short distance ahead of it, a yacht in which black merged with the deep Mediterranean blue.

They dressed Leheb in the latest thin, X-ray-proof bullet-resistant vest. Another crucial feature of the vest was the small capsules attached to its exterior, filled with a red liquid designed to mimic blood. Anyone firing a bullet or driving in a knife would see it gush out and believe they had killed him. A listening device was placed on Leheb’s body.

They had decided at the last moment not to give him the matchbox-sized explosive. In truth, it was partly their lack of trust in him, though they explained it as a precaution: the bomb might be detected. Leheb understood exactly what they meant, yet he didn’t take offense. His mind was elsewhere.

Mark, familiar with the psychology of criminals, could read in his eyes that something inside him had changed. Yet he sensed that the change was for the better, and attributed it to remorse for what he had done before.

Leheb set off alone in a small rowboat, rowing as if he were arriving from Turkey. Far off in the distance, the demon hunters watched him through a ship’s binoculars capable of magnifying several kilometers, shifting between Leheb and the dark vessel where Poseidon was believed to be.

Mark and Süleyman exchanged glances and muttered:
“Let’s hope this goes as planned, or else…”

As Leheb’s boat drew near the black yacht, they knew the final moment had come. When Demos spotted the boat, he hesitated at first, but brought him aboard once Poseidon gave permission.

The moment Leheb stepped onto the yacht, the same unbearable headache struck him—just as before. The Demon Hunters could no longer see Leheb because of the ship’s bulk, yet the stillness of the water around the dinghy told them he had boarded. The sun was already nearing the horizon, its yellow glare on the sea turning to crimson. Yet still, there was no movement on the yacht.

According to plan, Leheb should have initiated the operation at least two hours earlier. As soon as he saw Poseidon, he was to throw himself into the sea. Mark, watching from afar, would signal Süleyman, and Süleyman would fire the rocket launcher, blowing the yacht to pieces.

But three or four hours had passed. Not only had Leheb failed to jump—there had been no movement at all.

“We haven’t seen a single crew member, not even Demos, Poseidon’s so-called assistant. Not a trace of movement on that yacht. There’s only one thing left to do: board it before nightfall,” Süleyman said, and added,
“They may have captured Leheb. And we aren’t even sure Poseidon is there at all. For all we know, that yacht could be full of refugees or other innocent people. Maybe they’ve learned about us and set a trap.”

“You’re right,” Mark replied. “We can’t blow it up with a rocket launcher. We can’t take the risk of killing civilians.”

Even though it involved enormous risk, they decided Süleyman would board the yacht while Mark stayed back in the dinghy to cover him.
Mark, finger on the trigger, watched as Süleyman approached the vessel on a jet ski. He drew close—only a few meters away—and began studying the places where sea met hull.

Mark, barely ten meters behind, could make no sense of his partner’s movements. Süleyman leaned sideways on the jet ski and started splashing water toward the yacht with his hand.

“Süleyman, what the hell are you doing? Are you alright?” he shouted.
For a split second, Mark thought they were two friends horsing around, splashing each other at sea. But a darker thought quickly followed: had the demon somehow seized his mind?

Then he saw Süleyman rev up the engine, steering the jet ski directly toward the yacht.
“Süleyman, are you insane? Do you not see the damn boat in front of you?” he yelled.

Still, there was no movement on the yacht. Not even a sound. Mark knew something was off—but he had not expected this.

Süleyman leapt off the jet ski and, like a ghost passing through a wall, walked through the hull and emerged on the other side.
How was that even possible?

He rode back toward Mark’s small boat and said,
“No, no, this isn’t anything supernatural. It’s simple. They set up a holographic system. What we’re seeing is a beam of light.”

The Demon Hunters moved in together toward the black yacht.
Mark reached out and pressed his hand against the portion of the hull sticking above the water—only to discover that it was solid.

“But this part is real. It’s not light,” he said.

Süleyman stepped into what appeared to be the yacht’s interior, nothing but projected darkness.
After a quick inspection, he located two laser sources and covered them. The holographic interior flickered and died, leaving behind only the skeletal shell that wrapped the structure.

Süleyman summed it up:
“The lower half of the surrounding structure is real, just like you felt. But they mounted two laser units on the front and back, creating the illusion of a full interior. In other words, what we saw was a hollow shell filled by holographic projection.”

He pointed at the two light sources and continued:

“They used these to create a beam of light. One beam is projected onto the miniature yacht—the scale model of the vessel they wanted to appear as a hologram—while the other is directed onto a special surface, something like a photographic plate or film made of specific materials. After calibrating both beams with precise distance adjustments, they caused the two to interfere with each other.”

“Fine, your assessment makes sense. But what I don’t understand is this: we saw Leheb step onto that yacht. You can’t step onto a hologram. You can’t enter light. You would fall straight through. Meaning, Leheb should have plunged into the sea. And we both saw that man Demos walking on the deck. How do you explain that?”

As usual, when Süleyman was cornered, he shrugged, smirked faintly, pointed to the sky, and said,
“Maybe they were teleported?”

Mark stared at the wide empty space inside the wooden frame that wrapped around the nonexistent yacht.
He wondered, Does this void mean anything?

“Whatever happened here, do you think Leheb was part of it?”

“I don’t think so. I saw sincerity in his eyes. Besides, look—we’re alive. If Leheb had deliberately lured us into a trap, he would easily have included our deaths in the plan. But all we’ve found here are wooden panels, metal rods holding them together, nails, the light projectors, the photographic plate, and a few bits and pieces that make up the holographic system.”

“But they did a good job,” Mark admitted. “They didn’t just create the image of a yacht. They calculated the direction of the shadow, and the angle of reflected light on the water, to make the hologram blend naturally with its surroundings.”

Süleyman contacted the divers, asking them to search the water for any trace of Leheb or Poseidon.

“This isn’t an artificial pool or a river,” he said. “We’re talking about a sea that’s miles deep. After what William told us, we know the divers can’t descend that far.”

After a brief silence, he added,
“Time is almost up. Leheb and Poseidon are one thing… but if William can’t stop this war before it breaks out, we’ll reach a point of no return.”

Süleyman chuckled softly,
“So, we’re not the only ones smart enough to build holographic illusions.”

As they moved a few miles closer to Cyprus, the Demon Hunters watched the island ahead, simultaneously hoping to hear a powerful, resonant voice rise from it.
Suddenly, they began witnessing the spectacle they had been anticipating.

Thousands of balloons, each tied to a crate, descended from the sky. The balloons—multi-colored and heart-shaped—made the visual display even more mesmerizing.

Those who watched this spectacle in the sky—especially those in the north—first thought that God was sending them messages in small, beautiful, ornate chests. They believed so deeply that Poseidon had descended from the heavens to earth that the absurdity of such a thought never even crossed their minds.

Something else remarkable happened. Every television and radio broadcast carried the same voice. The sound was not unfamiliar to them. Five times a day, from the minarets, or on the rare occasions they visited the mosques, they had heard melodies that engraved themselves into the soul.

What they were hearing now was the Surah al-Rahman, whose verses embodied some of the most beautiful recitations of the Qur’an. Every verse carried meaning and guidance—yet, given the current moment, some seemed tailored directly to their situation:

“He raised the ships on the sea like towering mountains.”
“Whosoever is in the heavens and the earth asks of Him. Every day, every moment, He is in a state of action. So which of your Lord’s blessings will you deny?”

Those who opened the miniature chests attached to the balloons felt the first wave of fragrance carry their minds to the streets of Mecca and Medina fourteen centuries ago. What they saw inside summarized everything: an icon of the crucified Jesus, and a silver plate inscribed with the name “Muhammad.”

The slips of paper buried beneath them seemed to erase the magnetic impulse toward wickedness:

“The Prophets of Mercy will await those devoted to goodness and brotherhood at the Pool of Kawthar.”
“We made you into nations and tribes so that you may know one another, not annihilate one another.”
“The best of people are those most beneficial to others, not those who spill blood and serve the war barons.”
“It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for the arrogant to enter Paradise.”
“If someone strikes you on the right cheek, present to him the left.”
“Whoever—Muslim, Christian, Jew, or Magian—does an atom’s weight of good shall see its reward. And whoever oppresses, incites, or drives the world into chaos—whether by command, design, or by remaining a silent devil—will face the consequence thereof.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.”
“The believer is the one from whose hand and tongue others are safe.”

Among the thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—who opened those little chests and read the words, some regarded these maxims as beautiful, anonymous sayings. Yet those familiar with divine revelation and prophetic teachings recognized that they were either exact quotations or, if not identical in wording, identical in meaning.

Those who had planned to unleash chaos at nightfall—to send the people spilling out of mosques and churches into the streets to attack one another under military command—were confronted with a surprise they never anticipated.

Above the northern side of the island, the sky bore a holographic inscription in Arabic: Muhammad (peace and blessings be upon him).
Above the southern side, the icon of the crucified Jesus hovered.

No one understood how such colossal holograms had formed, though Mark and Süleyman knew perfectly well that Dr. William had orchestrated it with a fleet of silent, camouflaged drones.

Among the human senses, sight and hearing command the greatest part of our choices. Faced with a tableau that blended both—the visual and the audible—resisting its influence was nearly impossible.

With tears on their faces, the northerners emerging from mosques and homes, and the southerners stepping out from churches, turned their eyes toward the infiltrators who had poisoned their governments and gave them a message rich with meaning:

“If you know so much, you and the devil you serve can go fight your fellow destroyers. We will not lift a weapon at our brothers and sisters of the Book—nor do we wish so much as a scratch on their skin.”

Those who had spent their lives far from religion—judging by their appearance and bearing—felt the dormant seeds of goodness in their hearts awaken, and said:

“We were never against the heavenly religions, but against those who monopolize religion and exploit it for their own gain. We agree with you—we will not fall for the provocations of tyrants chasing chaos.”

When the soldiers of both sides expressed the same sentiment, the leaders turned their faces toward Murphy’s crypto-agents—those who had been shouting “Charge! Charge!”

In that moment, for the first time, people perceived how hideous and terrifying those men truly were.
They could not help but think: They look like something half-human, half-demon.

And so, for the sake of goodness—and without waiting for law, courts, or procedure—they ordered their immediate arrest.

The Demon Hunters and Dr. William shared the well-earned satisfaction of having changed the atmosphere of Cyprus, and of having prevented a war through the surge of love and fraternity that had swept the island.

With the collapse of the oppressive atmosphere manufactured by Poseidon and his conspirators, their schemes and machinations began to unravel one by one. Through the confessions of the saboteurs, it became clear that Teresa had been innocent all along. Sara had been murdered, not by Teresa, but by a covert armed unit loyal to Poseidon.

The demon hunters’ first task was to find Teresa and seek her help. They still could not decipher what the yacht truly was, nor did they have any trace of Poseidon, his men, or Leheb. Studying the remaining fragments of the yacht and the large, hollow cavity at its center, Teresa summed up the situation:

“You’re certain Leheb didn’t fall into the water when boarding the yacht. You also say you saw that man, Demos, walking on the deck. Even if a hologram could simulate movement, a flesh-and-blood person cannot simply vanish without an explanation. The most reasonable conclusion is that the yacht was real at first, and only later converted into a holographic structure by some mechanism.”

“We could have figured that out. But what should we make of this empty cavity? That’s what needs solving,” Süleyman replied, meeting Teresa’s eyes. She asked, “Do you remember a few years ago when a submersible called OceanGate disappeared—lost all communication?”

“Yes, I remember,” said Süleyman. “The tourist expedition to the wreck of the Titanic, more than a century after it sank.”

“And later they found the sub in pieces, likely destroyed by some kind of implosion,” Mark added. “So where are you going with this?”

Teresa pointed to the large hollow space within the wreckage. “Picture that submersible. Think of it like a canned capsule—mostly cylindrical, but tapering at one end like a tail. Now compare that shape to this cavity.”

Mark nodded slowly. “They match. So you’re saying the inner section of the yacht folded into the submersible, which detached from the hull and descended into the water.”

Teresa smiled. “Precisely.”

“The sub was already embedded in the base of the yacht. Deploying it underwater is old technology—but for the superstructure—the deck, bridge, cabins—to fold and collapse into the sub’s interior? That’s something I’ve never heard of.”

“Murphy strikes again with a technology outside our current repertoire. We have to admit it—the man is brilliant. Intelligence does not imply virtue. The human mind that invents nuclear energy can also reinvent it as a bomb; artificial intelligence, likewise, can be turned into a mechanism of mass death. And if the ones controlling the technology giants are demons wearing human flesh, like Murphy…”

Teresa finished his thought: “Then the only answer is for the good to work with as much hunger and ferocity as the wicked.”

She continued, “If the sub detached underwater, we need to search for it.”

“That search is already underway,” Süleyman replied.

A few hours later, a report came in. The submersible had been found, but not at the bottom of the sea—it was floating. A strange hybrid: half submarine, half vessel. And from within, a body had been retrieved.

DNA analysis confirmed that the corpse belonged neither to Poseidon nor to Leheb.

Investigators noted something even more unsettling: there were no signs of damage. No rupture. No mechanical failure. Nothing to explain why a vessel designed to survive the pressure of the deep had simply ceased operating—and surfaced on its own.