Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep131: Episode 131: Demonic Horror Stories

Episode Date: July 13, 2023

Today’s phenomenal opening tale of terror is ‘Koleta’, an original work by Revenant Writer, kindly shared directly with me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s kind permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/Revenant-Writer/ Today’s closing tale of the fantastical and the macabre is all four parts of ‘The Harrowing: A Quick Bus Ride into Hell’, an original series by rebecca_rjwriter, submitted directly to me via my sub-reddit and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission. https://www.reddit.com/user/rebecca_rjwriter/

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. Welcome to Dr. Creepen's Dungeon. How would we define horror? Well, it typically involves elements such as supernatural phenomena, grotesque imagery, violence, and psychological or emotional distress. The purpose of horror is to create an intense and chilling experience, often through the exploration of the unknown, the macabre,

or the terrifying aspects of human nature. Seeks to elicit a visceral response, leaving the audience unsettled or frightened, as we will see in tonight's two terrifying tales of terror. Now, my dear friends, as always, before we begin, a word of caution. Tonight's tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. If that sounds like your kind of thing, then let's begin. Children ought not to wander in the light of the crimson moon, for it's in the gloom of the sanguine sky,

that the hounds of hell roam the shadows, hunting for innocent and lost souls on which to feast their feted mall. Mother often spoke that ominous warning to my brother, Kalan, when we were growing up. Even though it sent a chill down my spine to hear the words, I never really knew what she meant by it. Every few years, when the time of the red skies came, there were never any signs of skulking and demonic beasts seeking to scoop us up. On the contrary, Mother and Father held fantastic parties. Several of the grown-ups from our church would come, dressed in the finest suits and the most beautiful gowns. They would dance and sing, laugh and drink brandy.

Nasty stuff, brandy. A boy from our church dared me to drink a sip a few years back and I spat it out almost immediately. This year it was decided that Kalin was too big for Mother to carry around all night. As such, he became my rink. responsibility. I was to watch him and take care of him while the grown-ups attended the party. The night drawled onwards, music ringing out from the parlour and filling the house with an air of otherworldly enchantment. My brother and I, along with four other children, stayed in the

basement and entertained ourselves with games and told rhymes around Kalyn Zoetrol. It was around three hours past midnight when the garnet moon was painting the sky into its deepest burning shades, that we all began to separate and grow tired of each other's company. Kalen and I had gone off by ourselves to a secret play area we'd previously established in the storeroom by the kitchen. Here I idly toyed with my collection of marbles while Kalan watched absent-mindedly from atop a wooden crate in front of the lone, playing window.

Windows were in every way off limits during the cycle of the Red Moon. The more public rooms of our home were blocked off with lovely silk and sheds, that mimic the hues of the sky outside. Under no circumstances was one to even catch a glimpse of the night outside. This was another rule that I never fully understood and saw no real harm in letting my pure our sibling violate. And so, I resolved to share a special moment of secret rebellion with Ceylon, where we could peek out at the Vermilion horizon and take in sights we were never meant to see.

"'Poppy!' Kaelan cooed excitedly, and suddenly, stuttling me out of the near hypnotic allure of the city beyond our window. I quickly scanned the area for the pup that had drawn my young siblings' attention, but saw nothing. I assumed he'd spied one of the wild mutts that occasionally wander into town after dark in search of food. I excuse myself to the restroom after trying in vain to coerce the four-year-old to accompany. How much trouble can one toddler get into? Inside a small pantry, I convinced myself, and with that I made my way out down the hall to relieve myself. It was only while washing up after

and a strange sense of creeping anxiety took a hold of me. I quickly made my way back to the pantry, telling myself along the way that I'd had enough of tonight's celebration and there was high time Kaelan and I had gone to bed. When I opened the door to the pantry, my heart plummeted and sent waves of cold terror coursing through me. Kalan was precisely where I'd left him, standing on the old crate, gazing out through the window,

which was now raised to its fully open position. But it was what stood beyond the window, gazing back at him that had stolen my senses and frozen me in an icy panic. Just outside the wide portal, lurched a massive beast. It was covered in matted, greasy black fur, and its long, snouted face resembled that of a hound or a wolf.

The window stood around two metres up from the floor, and was itself around that height. The dog-like thing snouched severely on its hind legs and must have stood more than four metres tall and fully upright. The thing's long sinewy forelimbs hung down seemed to almost reach the ground. Worst of all were the beast's eyes. Milky grey and seemingly long dead.

They stared vacuously at my brother. The things seemed to sway softly as it eyed Kalan, and to my horror its drooling, filthy moor had twisted into what I could only describe as a sick, malicious grin. I stared, paralyzed in pure terror, for what seemed like ours. Before I knew it, however, Reality caught up with me in a crashing, torrential tidal wave of pure terror.

With a blinding speed, the thing snapped forward and caught Kalen between his small neck and shoulders with his massive jaws and ripped him through the window and out into the night. Shaken from my delirium, I raced to save him but could not cross the distance in time. In an instant, the small screaming child and his hulking bestial captor had disappeared into the dense alleyways beyond our own. house. I choked out a sob for my brother. He was my responsibility and I had failed him. An inferno of pure hatred for the thing and for my own failures burned through my veins. Riding the adrenaline

high, I raced blindly through the house. Before I'd fully realized my actions, I found myself marching out of my parents' master bedroom. Father's flintlock in hand is when I passed a parlor on my way back to the window where that thing had stolen my brother that I poor. I'd heard mother's inebriated laughter sounding out among the sounds of music as well as the dull roar of her guests. I sighed solemnly. The adults would be of no help. Most of them that I could see could barely stand, let alone track a beast through the winding streets of town. If they even believe me to begin with, that is. Setting my jaw, I continued back to the past. Andriand, after only a moment's hesitation, climbed out of the window and into the cobblestone alley beyond.

Looking around, I shuddered. The sound of my footsteps reverberating off of the cold stone wall sent anxiety's cold fingers tickling up my spine. I saw, to my dismay, a well-defined trail of Kalen's blood spattering off into the distance. My grip on the pistol tightened, and I followed the dog-like thing's trail. I would get my brother back, I thought, and if not I would kill the abomination that took him from me, even if doing it and also doing it alone, men that I might not come back. The twisting alleys and paths of the town felt ever more labyrinthian in the ruby glow of that sickeningly sinister blood moon. Shadows loom long, threatening to swallow me into their outstretched grass,

with every sharp angle my heartbeat faster, anticipating that horrid mongrel beast to leap out and claim me like it had, Kalen. My spine went rigid and my blood turned to ice as a long, discordant sound rang out and echoed over the rooftops. It took me a moment to recognise it as a kind of unholy amalgam of a scream and a best ill howl. It had to be the thing that had taken Kalen. Taking a deep breath, I set out to the light jog, determined to find the horror before it crawled back into whatever feted pit it had come from. I trotted up the stone steps to the town's main square.

As I came to the top, I got my wish, and dear God how I wish I hadn't. The dog-like thing was there. It's back to me. I could see the sickly, mangy flesh running up its spine, the hair, or I suppose fur, clustered itself in matted bunches and glinted wet in the red lunar light. I could see now that its legs were as unnaturally long as its arms had been when I'd first laid eyes on it. It was hunched over something, someone, and its gangling limbs lurched out at awkward angle so as to bring its face low.

I steeled myself and crept slowly toward the feasting creature, raising father's flintlock level to my eye, and aimed directly at the beast's centre mass. As I neared, the thing seemed to jerk its canine face to the side, letting it a kind of mucasy hacking, as if some thick echo were caught in his throat. With his head pulled away, I could see just who it had been gorging itself on. Kalen's pale face, frozen in a mix of agony and horror, gazed at me from beneath the crouching giant.

blood vessels in his right eye had broken, giving in a bulging black look in the shadows. His face bore monstrous gashes down one side, and his silvery blonde hair was caked in gaw. Below the neck, it was hardly possible to distinguish as a body. Visor and half-tued organs lay in a loose pile. Pool of my baby brother's blood had seaped into the cracks of the cobblestone and began to spread in awkward geometric peasant. happens. I let out a sharp gasp at the sight of Kalen's mutilation. Immediately the greasy dog-like creature's long ears perked up and his head snapped impossibly fast to face me. The creature's more curled into that same sickening grin I'd seen before it had taken Kalen and his body slowly

shifted in my direction. From deep within its throat a guttural, almost chuckling sound crept out and wove tendrils of chilling fear throughout my being. I cocked the hammer of father's flintlock and desperately tried to steady my tremorous hands. The dog-like beast reared up on its hind legs and stood to its full height, its spine and joints letting out a stomach churning series of cracks and snaps. Turned its head to gaze at the crimson moon and inhaled deeply,

the posture-ridden, greasy skin of its underbelly expanding and splitting in places as it filled. its lungs. The thing returned its gaze to my frozen form and unleashed a terrible roar, whose sound was only made worse by the reverberations off of the stone walls and pathways of the square. The sound warmed its way deep inside my skull, threatening to shred my eardrums with the same veracity and savagery that the beast itself had torn into Kalen. I fed a wave of dizziness and a queer sense of nausea while the thing howed its nightmarish cry. Before I knew it, my legs had gone limp and the earth quickly rose up to meet my fainting body.

The shadow is rushed in from the corners of my vision to claim me. I used every bit of strength I could muster to squeeze the trigger of the pistol, sending a shot, lightning fast into the monster's shoulder and causing it to shriek in pain. The ringing echo of the gunshot, mixed with the dog-like bellows, fused awkwardly together and faded out in time with my stings. deadly receding consciousness. The morning after was, for the most part, a haze. A constable woke me and returned me to my home

where I was examined by our family physician. The news of Kalen's death was broken to mother and father, who collapsed at the loss of their son. I told my mother my story of how the dog-like thing had taken Kalan and how I'd gone to rescue him. She only cried harder and cursed my inner. I tried for nearly a quarter of an hour to get any information on just what the beast was and why it had taken my brother. I also couldn't comprehend just why nobody was talking about the mangled, horrible state his body had been left in.

It was as if nobody cared, or at the very least, weren't surprised by it. She never faltered, however. She never spoke a word. It was at Kalen's funeral that things began to feel more real. and less like the wispy fog of confusion that arises when trying to recall a dream. The family was gathered closest to the coffin as Kalen was lowered into the ground. The nearest us were our close friends and members of our church. I remembered peeking around during the final prayer and seeing someone peculiar standing off in the distance,

beneath a gnarled oak tree. We made eye contact, and he seemed to acknowledge me in a way as if to express his contolences. The man beneath the tree was the former reverend of our church. I didn't know much about him, as Mother said he'd been excommunicated nearly sixteen years prior. She never explained the reason for his removal, just that he was an unclean soul and not fit to lead a congregation as tight-knit and devout as that of our church. Reverend Dutois had become something of a local boogeyman in the time since his separation from the church. Children pass stories around that, if you misbehaved or wondered, into the streets at night that Dutois would snatch you up and take you back to his estate

on the hill overlooking town. Rumors could occasionally be heard that he bought strange herbs and ingredients from the town apothecary and conducted strange experiments deep in the bowels of his home, but nobody could ever say for sure that this was the case. It was always an instance, a friend of a friend of a friend told me. Seeing Dutois at a funeral wasn't particularly odd, especially given that he'd know my parents during his tenure at the church. One thought did strike me as peculiar, however, and it teased the corners of my thoughts during our return home. It nagged at me just enough that

before the sun had begun to set in the amber evening sky, I had again climbed through my window and crept my way through town. As I stood at the base of the hill, atop which dutois's decrepit old estate rested, eyeing the torn, twisted state of the front gate, was the only moment. or certain of my suspicions. When I'd eyed the aged man at the cemetery, his right arm and shoulder had been wrapped in a sling. The same arm that I'd shot the beast in. As if to cement my growing hunch further,

the bandaged fabric was noticeably stained a deep red tinge. That's why he'd been removed from the church and why the townspeople vilified it. That's what mother meant when she called him unclean. Du Trois was the dog-like thing that took my brother away from me. Whatever rituals he practised, whatever experiments he was attempting, I would make him face justice for what he'd done. I would confront him.

Reverend Du Trois' home bore an even stronger sense of disrepair upon closer inspection. Stonework was moss-ridden and cracked. The wood of the front porch appeared dry in skeletal, as though he could crumble to dust and ash at any moment. The windows, however, were fitted with thick iron bars that felt starkly dissimilar to the rest of the ancient structure, a circle of the outside wanting to ensure an inconspicuous point of entry in order to catch the vile man-beast off guard. As luck would have it, a small, almost child-sized window in the structure's basement stuck out around the back of the house and was unguarded by the thick wrought iron of the other port-holes.

Sharp, weedy grass poked and cut at my arms as I tried to force the window open. Despite my pulling, however, the glass would not come free. In frustration, I struck out at the window pane, resolving to shatter it and forego my element of surprise. To my horror, the window did not shatter, but instead collapsed inward, my forward momentum pulling me down into the hazy shadows below. I cascaded down further than I'd anticipated. the cellar to be and crashed hard onto an old wooden table, splintering it into two with the force of my impact. My head rang out, my body cried in agony. I'd landed awkwardly on my wrist and felt a sharp snapping as my weight collapsed on top of it.

I tried desperately to subdue my cries of pain, but to no avail. Surely the reverend had heard the clatter and would find himself upon me any minute. The thought of being discovered by the wretched holy man fueled my body with an adrenal intensity, forcing me to my feet and to stagger my way toward any kind of exit. Feeling around in the murk, I eventually came upon a thick eye endure. I leaned against the cold metal and tried to catch my breath before continuing, only to be met with a sound that set my teeth on edge. The sound of a woman's soft sobbing.

I listened intently for a moment, and yes, I could clearly hear a quiet whimper coming from the room beyond the thick metal door. I felt around blindly for a handle and pulled hard. The door rattled noisily in its frame. It had been barred from the outside. Fumbling frantically, I removed the heavy wooden door jam and pulled once more. The hinges groaned in protest before giving away, and the heavy metal cried awfully as it so. slid against the old stone floor. I'd completely forgotten about being noiseless

and was almost entranced by the weeping woman. When the door was open wide enough for me to fit through, I slipped inside and felt my stomach drop with such force that I had to lean back on the frame to study myself. The room was dimly lit by a lantern sitting on a table to my immediate left. The surface was also a riddled with glass files of varying sizes, each containing different liquids. In the dull light I could see that most appeared thick and viscous,

and no two were the same colour. There were surgical utensils as well, rusted scalples, blades, and hypodermic needles making up most of them. There were books opened at seemingly random pages depicting intricate and complicated-looking formulae. In the centre of the room, a large medical table was covered in sheets that were stained with what appeared to be large, dark,

blotches. The floor surrounding the table was spattered with dried blood. Beyond the table, bound by large shackles at her wrists and ankles, was a young woman, a teenager. Her open hair hung down into her face and looked as though it hadn't been cut in years. She was wearing a dingy nightgown that I was sure had been white long ago, but had now been ruined with grime, sweat and other bodily film. Her skin had been rubbed raw where the shackles gripped her, indicating that she'd been imprisoned here for quite some time. The exposed flesh looked sickly and infected, dotted by small postures that seemed to weep a foul ickle if she moved too rapidly. As her head drifted wearily to her left side,

I could see a distinct and fresh wound that turned my blood to eyes. Between her breast and collarbone was a deep, circular lesion surrounded by blackening. bruised flesh. This girl had been the victim of the gunshot. I swallowed hard and the girl looked up of me. Her eyes were sunken, small trails of blood trickled from her tear darts. Her pupils had collapsed, giving her eyes an inhuman and animalistic look only accented by the bulging blood vessels in her sclera. The pale skin of her face seemed to be stretched thin over her skull. She like she hadn't eaten a decent meal in weeks. I expected her to be relieved that seeing someone who could help would start her begging me to free her, but she only glared at me with a feral

intensity. When I reached out to her and tried to speak, she flew into her rage and began screaming an unholy awful sound. She floured her arms and kicked her legs, rattling her chains violently. I felt my knees go weak and found myself crawling backwards on the floor in abject horror. Her frenzy cries and while behaviour was made a million times worse by the fact her bond

seemed to be giving away if ever so slightly. I began to scramble for the door. I wanted nothing more than to leave that cursed place, that horrible young woman and be home safe in my bed. But as I grabbed for the handle, the door flew back.

against me knocking me onto my back. Reverend Dutois had burst into the room, his dry, ancient voice now booming through the stone room. At the sight of me, however, his shouts died in his throat. His pale gray eyes grew wide with panic and his already pale skin became that much more paled as the blood rush from his face. You! The question croaked out of his throat as he extended a long, skeletal finger in my direction. You cannot, he said more firmly, that the mask of confusion never left his wrinkled face. We stared at each other for a long time, all the while the chain girl continued her

caterwaverning. Her name, he whispered solemnly, with eyes sinking to the stone floor beneath him. Her name is Coleta. She is my daughter. I know she hurt that young boy, he said, pausing. He was not the first. I know she would have hurt you as well had you not fired on her. The man raised his gaze to stare at the open hair girl and tears welled in his aged eyes.

She doesn't mean to hurt, my collector, he said. She's sick, you see. Plague runs in her blood. Curse she is. I've tried for years to help her to take the sickness away, but with every blood move, she gets harder and harder to control. The man slowly removed an overcoat,

again revealing his bandaged arm, went noticeably as he undid the rapid. His arm had been goused in three deep, rough slashes that could only have been made by very sharp teeth or claws. The wounds oozed a trail of milky pus as he moved. They were clearly in front. and judging by the tentacling black veins beneath his thin skin, I didn't think he had much of a chance of surviving.

Du Trois stepped over me, his long legs swinging silently as he did, and made his way to the chained, wild form of collector. She screamed and roared at him, gnashing her teeth and sending a spray of spittle across her father's face. He cupped her cheek, being careful not to lose a finger in the process, and started humming softly to her. It was a tune I recognised vaguely, though, to place it proved impossible. Galator's fit steadily calmed as he sank,

until her head drooped low and her body relaxed. He kissed her softly on the forehead and whispered something indistinct into her ear. After wiping the tears from his eyes, he turned again to face me. He walked softly toward me and extended a hand to help me from the floor. Come!

He said, Let me make you some tea and we can get you back to your parents, no worse for where. With that, he stroked calmly past me in, into the cellar beyond. I did not follow. I reached out to the warped work table and firmly grafted a jagged, rusty scalpel. The reverend stopped just beyond the large iron door, and a cold stillness engulfed the air between us. I saw him draw in a shuddering breath and quietly plead.

Don't. My blood burn hot as it pump powerfully through my veins. I knew what I had to do. I'd come here to confront the thing that killed Kalen. And here she was, bound and waiting, being protected by only a frail old man. Time seemed to slow, and I pivoted on my heels, breaking for the dog thing this man called Coleta.

The Reverend Belly had time to turn around. before I cleared the distance and drew the blade across the girl's throat. Du Bois screams echoed around me, and always seemed to drown out the sound of a single gunshot. Shocked, I looked back at the ancient man as my brain tried to make sense of what had happened. He stood in the doorway, tears pouring down his face. And his left hand was an old flintlocked pistol,

smoke dancing eerily from the barrel. A barrel which had been pointed straight at me. I looked down and saw a steady stream of beautiful crimson pouring from my abdomen. I returned my gaze to the reverend before collapsing to the floor. My body felt cold as the life began to drain from me. There wasn't any pain, just a rapidly encroaching chill, unlike anything I'd ever felt before. My vision seemed to tunnel in on itself,

until I locked eyes with the fading light of Collector. There was little expression to be gleaned from those amber pearls, but I thought I could detect a kind of peace in those inhuman, clasped pupils of hers. As the darkness closed around me, I swore I saw the faintest hint of a contented smile across her lips. I don't know exactly what transpired after I'd lost consciousness. When I woke up the next day in the town's surgery,

People didn't want to say much and mostly just told me to rest. From what I was able to drag out of a nurse and a few others that had stopped in to check on me, Dutois' gunshot and screaming had drawn the attention of a local vendor who was attempting to call on the reverent, which had sent him running into town and raising an alarm with anyone he could find. Townsfolk stormed the house and discovered Dutois cradling the now freed body of Colleta, and had found me bleeding out on the floor. when they tried to pry him off the girl's body. He fought back violently with the same scalpel I'd used to rend her throat.

In the ensuing struggle, Du Tuatua was overpowered and killed. His mournful cries, I was told, echoed in each man's head like a dying curse before he finally succumbed to his wound. The house and all traces of his unholy secret were burned to the ground after that. People asked me what business I had in that house, and why the reverence saw fit to end my life. But I said nothing.

My silence was chalked up to shock brought on by the traumatic experience. No one questioned me about the girl with the open hair. She was just treated as an unspoken detail, and that was all there was to it. As for me, the bullet had done minimal damage. The surgeon said that the shot was one in a million, missing the same. vital organs and sparing me from nerve and spinal damage. I made a full recovery in time, that when it rains all, I stop to think about it too much. The old wound cries out, refusing to be forgotten. I still think about Kalen, of course. It pains me to know

that you'll never get to grow up. Instead, I try to live my life in honor of the boy. I spend as much time as I can trying new things, even those that frighten me. me, because I know Kalen will never get. I can cherish the memories for the both of us. I still don't fully understand the reasons behind what happened. Perhaps it's better that way. The thing that took him away from me was gone. Burned to ash and buried beneath a mound of rubble. Destined to be forgotten. Breaking news. Manscape now has beard products available in your country, that's right. They're once again revolutionizing

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Manscape Beer Hed, One stroke, one guard, 20 length. How coughed and blinked open his burning eyes. His breath stuttering as a wave of heat and nausea rolled over him. Holding his position, bent forward against the steering wheel of the intercity transit bus. He took several deep, ragged breaths, focusing down at a mustard stain on his outsized mill as he attempted to regain his bearings. Another blast of heat assaulted him, hot enough to cause him to wince beneath the cover of his folded arms,

and he shook his head weakly from side to side. Hazy memories began to cohere with his rational mind, and as they did, the distant sound of screeching began to rise. in his ears. Screeching, the screeching of tires, the pain in his arm and chest, the impact. Jerking upright, Hal clutched at hand to his heart, gasping and squeezing at the meat of his chest. He was still in the bus. He'd been driving, but then, blinking furiously, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. A second wave of screeching whales met his ears, and he frowned, turned him to squint out through the glass doors. Where was he? He'd been driving through the tunnel, but

it didn't look like concrete they were wedged up against. And that sound, that wasn't tires against pavement. It almost sounded like. A great wailing of gnashing and teeth. Al spun in his seat, searching for the source of the unfamiliar voice. His eyes fell on a man, a priest, clearly by the collar at his throat. Black of hair with grey, and grey. And he was at the temples, he stood, staring out the window before him, a distant and highly troubling expression on his face. Hale grunted a bit as he leaned to unfasten his seatbelt, then turn the rest of the way to take in the state of his passengers. Staring back, he paused. Where were the rest of them? There had been at least 18 passengers at his last stop.

Where were they? Only three people remained on the bus. The priest, still staring through the window, a young woman, maybe 18 at most, dressed to the nines in the thickest goth glam Hal had ever seen, and a young man wearing dark-rimmed glasses and sea-green scrubs. Both of the latter two were finding their feet, beginning to stare about at their surroundings, a look of confusion similar to that which Hal himself was feeling, etched into their faces. "'Is everyone all right?' Hal asked, hoarsely. "'Where's everyone else?' "'Saved.'

The priest's voice was quiet and distant. Hal waited, but no further explanation followed. Shaking his head, he turned away. Sounds like EMS must have already started getting fogs out, and just as well. I really didn't feel like dealing with a shell-shot priest just now. Reaching his hand out, he fumbled to open the door, but it was jammed hard against the wall of the tunnel. Heaving himself up and out of the driver's seat,

he started walking down the centre aisle. He stopped short when he made it to the priest. He hadn't moved as Hal approached, just stood there like a statue, staring out the window. Heat pressed hard against the side of his face, and he turned to look out the same window. Flames glowed against the outside of the bus, stuttering and flaring in unsteady bursts,

fighting against the interior lighting for dominance against a thin pane of tinted glass. "'Shit, we're on fire!' Hal caught a momentary glimpse of his own stunned face in the reflection, as the fire wavered and disappeared once again. Pushing past the priest, he quickly moved to the rear exit, throwing his shoulder hard against the glass-pane door, when it wouldn't immediately open.

It barged but only by a small crack, and through it Hal was able to glimpse a mangled, sook-covered mass of corrugated steel, the remains of which looked like a shipping container, wished tightly against the outside. He pushed against the door once more, but quickly gave up, turning back to try the emergency exit instead. Glass imploded from the opposite side of the bus,

and a shriveled, smoking form hurtled in through the broken window. Shit, oh shit, oh shit! The man in Scrubs was shouting, scrambling over the back of the seat in an effort to distance himself from the burned and twisted body writhing in the aisle, right next to where he'd been sitting. A few seats forward The goth-cha began screaming

A sigh of relief passed over the lips Of the burned man And Howe watched in shock as he relaxed against the filthy flooring What looked like rapture Nuzzling one blackened cheek Against the rubber aisle What the hell is going on? The rush of searing heat from the broken window

brought Howe's attention back up And the sound of screaming and screeching increased Damn it, I've got to get out of here All right, everyone. Off the bus now. We'll send EMS for him. Crossing to the emergency exit, he jerked the lever up with one thick fist and threw it wide. Glass crunched underfoot as he waved the passengers forward. Goffchick was the first to jump ship, skirting around the smoking and sizzling man with a squeamish twist of her fishneck-clad legs, leather booze notwithstanding.

The man in scrubs casting one hesitant glance downward on his way past. quickly followed. Yo, Padre, you coming? The priest, unmoved from his distant attentiveness, even through the entrance of the burning man, blinked at Hal as if coming back to himself, and then nodded, turning to follow the others through the small exit. The scorching gust greeted Hal as he stumbled heavily to the ground,

and he lifted an arm protectively in front of his face. Squinting through the caustic, sulfuric wind, he found the others just a few. few feet away, hovering close together far back in the space between the bus and the wall. Light flared from directly beside the huddle group, and they all cried out as the nearest set of tires ignited and burst, dropping the bus sharply in their direction. Goth chick threw herself against the wall of the cave, but then immediately jerked away again, as if burned.

Heavy streaks of black mascara running down her cheeks as she began to hyperventilate. Where are we? she cried, staring around the dark space, with wild eyes. What happened? Hal held both hands out to water, palms out, hoping to stave off any more hysterics. He really didn't have time for hysterics. Look, just calm down, nobody panic. Miss, what's your name? Frantic eyes found his face. Amelia. Hal nodded, then turned to the man in scrubs. Dr. Benjamin Turner, he answered at Howell's raised brows. I'm a resident in county general. A middle of a freaking emergency and this guy's going to make sure I know he's a doctor.

Hal shook his head, spitting out a globule of ash-tasting saliva before turning to the priest. The father furrowed his brows. Who I was doesn't really matter now. My judgment has been passed. In judgment, what the hell's wrong with this guy? Ignoring his words, Hal asked instead. You said the others were already rescued. Where's EMS? The cops.

The priest just stared at him. Hal stared back. The expression on the father's face making him think there was something he wasn't catching on to. Another blast of heat pressed against him, and he scrunched his eyes shut. He shook his head. Whatever, Padre. Come on. We've got to get out of this tunnel before the whole bus blows.

I wouldn't. The priest's voice held a note. of warning, and how paused in his motion of turning toward the rear of the bus, where a small gap remained between it and the wall. Excuse me? This cave, this crevice of unnotice, this is likely our last reprieve before final judgment. This is likely our last reprieve before final judgment throws us eternally into the fiery furnace. Whatever breath of the kingdom we carried here with us, it will not abide long, not here.

Fiery furnace, judgment. Hal blinked hard at the man, shaking his head in frustrated bewilderment. Dude, what the hell are you? But then he broke off, slapping a hand to the side of his face, as with a painful flash he remembered. His vision shrinking to a small, bright haze, passengers and tires screaming in equal volume as the bus spun sideways,

the oncoming semi-correaning through the freeway tunnel. shaking his head how cleared his spinning brain are you telling me he began sinking drop plummeting from the pit of his stomach all the way to his toes then he shook his head again scoffing at the ridiculous notion this guy must have hit his head something fierce you're crazy how about a priest and a doctor end up in hell he cast a momentary glance at amelia but said nothing earning a reproachful look in return. He ignored this, though. Clearly she hadn't been going to church in those platform boots.

Dr. Benjamin Turner, Hamd, looked slightly uncomfortable, but it was the priest who replied. It's simply not a matter of our deeds that save our souls. And he took a ragged breath, staring out past the rear of the bus at the dim glow of the light filtering in. And it would appear that some sins truly are unforgivable. "'Hale spared him one last incredulous look before turning away.

"'Whatever you say, Padre, I'm getting out of here. "'Emotion to Amelia. "'You coming? Doc? "'Doc Turner nodded and moved to follow Hal and Amelia "'toward the dim light at the end of the tunnel. "'The bus had halted crookedly in the narrow space, "'and there was only a small crack between the rear of the vehicle "'and the wall in which to pass through.

"'Sucking in his gut, Hal squeezed his body through the narrow, gap, wincing as the heat of the stone burned his skin. His thoughts unconsciously slid back to the priest's ominous statement as he felt its sear across his back. A rush of scorching air blew past him as he emerged around the bus, and he spun away from it, blinking to find the others following with much less difficulty. Clearing the ashy grit from his eyes, he turned back to the red glow. The sound of screaming was louder, nearly overwhelming, and how found himself adamantly denying in the priest's words, again and again and then again. A horn blast, deep and thunderous, shook the tunnel with his basso core,

slapping his hands over his ears, Hal ducked his head, cowering against the heated wall. Through his squinted vision, he saw the red light at the end of the tunnel begin to flash. Fire trucks, thank God, but did they have to blare the horn like that? He turned to face the others. Looks like EMS straight ahead. He shouted over the remaining echo. Likely thought it was too dangerous to enter the tunnel or something. I would do it right.

They were worried about the integrity of the tunnel, so they didn't drive the vehicles in. He choked and coughed on another lungful of caustic smoke. Surprised at the worry he felt when he realized it didn't smell like diesel fumes. A tendril of flame shut up the wall to his right, and he shied away. Amelia peeled her hands away from her ears. Something's not right, she whimpered, staring around at the confined space. Look, Hal maintained.

You can see the flashes. They're less than 50 yards away. Doc Turner moved around her, staring at the mouth of the tunnel as he wiped his forearm across his face. A streak of black remained in its place. No, she's right. I'm telling you, Hal argued. motioning to the light, now a dim, steady red again, and he hesitated, not flashing. Look at this place, the dock hissed through a choke cough.

Does it look like a traffic tunnel to you? Howe stared at him, squinting against the caustic air, the smell of sulphur and hot iron thick in his nostrils. Look! And as the young resident's arm shot around in a frustrated attempt at illustration, Halel look. really looked he blinked through the haze of the heat searching the walls the ceiling the floors where were the lamps no lines on the road of those walls were made of stone jagged and rocky not concrete where the hell but he stopped that thought dead in its tracks look doesn't matter where we are we need to get out before the whole bus goes up in flames not waiting for an answer

how spun and began marching down the tunnel, skirting sporadic bursts of flames as he moved purposefully on, trying to ignore the rising sense of dread growing in his middle as the sound of cries and whales increased with every step, trying to keep his pace steady as the blistering wind blew with increasing fury against the exposed skin of his face and hands, trying not to think of the priest's words. But as he emerged through the mouth of the tunnel,

all thoughts of denial or rescue or redemption, left him. Touring walls of rock and flame extended out from either side of him in an endless stretch, curving around until they faded into the distance amid a rippling haze of smoke and heat. Slowly, his gaze followed the concave arc of jagged rock as it plummeted downward to form a fiery, gaping basin. Hell was a bowl. Hell was one giant, inescapable bowl filled with writhing bodies, all screaming and scrambling over each other and a bit to climb to the higher reaches. Hull followed the rise of the sloping walls,

his eyes tracking the burning escarpments up to where they terminated, high above them, their peaks shrouded in a glowing black event horizon of brimming darkness. The darkness sucked at him, pulling at his clothes, his duty vest, whipping the burning heat over his face until he was forced to turn away from the boundless expanse before him. A scream from right beside him caused him to jump,

and he spun to find a body, crusted and blistered, climbing over the edge of the cliff at their feet. One smoking hand was clasped around Amelia's leather-clad ankle. She screamed again and kicked out at the body, breaking its grip and causing it to fall backward from where it had emerged. Shocked, how quickly stepped to the brink, leaning cautiously out over the edge. He watched as it tumbled, crashing against rocks and other,

bodies in its descent. Those bodies joining the first to create a grotesque cascade plummet into the centre of the fiery bowl, where they disappeared with agonorees shrieks into a vast, burning late. Hal stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the precipice. Suddenly, the horn sounded again, and in a panic he ducked beneath the shelter of his arms, pressing his forearms hard against his ears when his hands overshot their goal. He felt a rumbling begin in the soles of his feet, as the horrid blast reverberated over the increasing volume of cries and screams. As he looked up, his frantic gaze sweeping the ledge.

Torrents of writhing bodies burst from the walls in all directions, flowing over each other in a macabre river of flesh, losing from cracks and crevices as if the walls themselves were bleeding. Howe flung himself backward into the passage right as the bodies began tumbling over the mouth of the in a sickening waterfall of limbs and twisted faces. The heavy, repetitive sound of flesh smacking into stone made Howell's gorge rise, and he backed away, deeper into the darkness to find the others already there,

all three of them, including the priest. The father simply stared out at the gruesome river of fire and flesh. A grim acceptance in his features as he began to edge forward. "'Father!' Hale shouted, gagging, as fear-ridden nausea, clamped his throat closed, and his stomach heaved. Undeserving of that title, the priest answered sadly, waiting for the cascade of bodies to ebb before moving closer to the lip of the cliff and staring down toward the lake of roiling fire.

Al coughed and gagged again, shielding his face with a forearm, as a blast of heat, smelling of brimstone and burning corpses rose up from the depths below. Father, get back. But the priest kept inching forward, eyeing the lake with a terrible intensity. A fire already glows harder. If I command myself now, before the torment truly begins, will I meet oblivion? If I seek my second death rather than flee it, will it still be eternal fire that awaits me? Howe watched in horror as the priest inched a toe over the edge.

Perhaps it was simple instinct that caught at the man, for how truly believed in. that moment that the priest was about to commit to that second irreversible step. But instead he stumbled, wheeling an arm out behind him to catch his balance before he could slip fully over the edge. Amelia, eyes wild, darted forward and grabbed the back of his jacket. What are you doing? she cried, clutching at his sleeve, pulling him back toward the mouth of the tunnel where he'd stumbled and fell against the inside wall. It was breathing heavily, but there were deep furrows in the same.

center of his forehead. He didn't seem capable of answering her, though. We just sat there, staring out of the infinite space, listening to the cries and struggles of the multitude, now once again climbing up the fiery walls. We need to get back to the bus. Howe looked round. It was the doctor who'd spoken. What? The bus. Didn't you hear what the priest said before? He knew where we were the moment he came to. We won't get in burn back there. We need to go back. Sure enough, Hal could see the skin on Dr. Turner's face

beginning to redden and chat from the blistering wind that was a constant plague here outside the tunnel. Notting, Hal heaved himself up and staggered after the others, back toward the bus. He collapsed against the tires when they finally reached their goal. Had it been so hot here before? He was breathing heavily, gasping against the road. rawness of the heat, tears cutting path through the soot and smoke on his face as they leaked

unbidden from the corners of his stinging eyes. I wiped a hand across his face, absolutely surprised when his fingers didn't come away, dripping with sweat and tears. The heat had cooked the moisture right off the surface of his skin. Suddenly he remembered what had befallen the last set of tires, and he quickly pushed himself away, moving instead to the open emergency exit door. Jesus Christ! Christ, Hal let back, clutching a hand to his heart as he met the raw and blackened gaze of the burned man. He sat crouched in the opening of the small door, blocking Howe's way and grinning down at him with a lipless leer. Not anymore, he asked, but once, yes. The priest shuffled near, peering around Hal as he blocked the heat from a nearby burst of flame with a sleeve.

A blast from me. The tormented soul chortled in low, gravely tones. Oh, yeah. Plenty of that are out here as well. Ignore his words. He's one of the damned. Here too you stand, priest. Unworthy servant. How felt another wave of nausea rise up, when a globule of flesh ripped away from the body's half-formed lips as he spat out his words. The doctor suddenly looked as sick as Hal felt, but Amelia was staring at the creature with a look of morbid fascination, perhaps a similar fascination as what landed her here in the first place.

"'Who are you?' she asked, inching closer, her voice just audible over the rush of flame and wind. "'I'm old again, and your history's known me well,' he hissed. "'I've been named Nero, Vlad, Kahn, Himmler, I have ruled you, conquered you, taught you and enlightened you. I've been your king, your counsel. I've even been your pope. The priest curled his lip at this last one, but did not speak. Amon, he may call me. That's how I live first.

Amon, Amelia echoes. But then Doc Turner pushed his way forward, causing Amelia to stumble even closer to the burn man. you've been all these people you've gotten out suddenly hal was paying very close attention hmm the soul crooned oh yes there is a way out

but then he struck like a snake darting his hand out and catching amelia by the throat jerking her close hal and the others let forward but they were brought up short by amelia's terrified squeak when the charred fingers abruptly tightened their whole old. Amelia was squirming and whimpering, but Howell's gaze was drawn, transfixed, to the creature's hand and arm, where, in the manner of flames coercating over burning wood, new flesh was beginning to ripple and bloom over the once scorched and peeling extremity. Ah, and it is away, Amund continued, inches from Amelia's shuddering face, tipping his head slightly as he took in her porcelain features.

and if you take me there I'll deliver you from an eternity of torment. The grinning face moaned and Hal watched in horror as a slender tongue slipped out and licked Amelia from neck to hair. Part two, she screamed as a streak of red blistered in the wake of his sadistic kiss. Functioning on instinct that surprised him. Hal swung at the burned man's face, missing but causing Amun to. lose his grip as Amelia twisted away at the same time. She dove to the side and hid, sobbing behind the priest, who held one protective arm out in front of her. This thing is vile, twisted,

Hal thought, backing up again. In contrast to Howe's abrupt retreat, Doc Turner pushed forward, moving farther in front of Amelia in the priest, so admittedly still keeping a safe distance away from the crouching figure of her mother. Tell us how to get out, he demanded. a look of violent single-mindedness creasing his heat-stained face. Lips and tongue were fleshing out from where our moon had licked Amelia, and he seemed to be tasting her still as he spoke. Descensus Christi added in Pharos. I was here when Christ descended and delivered the righteous from their perpetuation in shill.

I was here when the son of man touched the fiery ground of Hades, and where the light of the kingdom exists, the fires of hell cannot. Muscle and tissue were beginning to rope backward over face and arm, lending Amun features, fullness, and definitely lending him strength. He uncalled from his crouched just inside the door, keeping his motions deliberate and measured as he lowered one leg to the ground. It hissed where his foot made contact, but Amun seemed not to notice, gradually rising to his full height, shoulder straight and back erect. I alone followed the wailing of the dam to a blinded by the image of that which is holy, singing for eternity, trapped in a paradox of light and darkness. I'm with a pardry on this one, hell announced, growing more wary by the second as Amun spoke.

He shook his head, squinting against the sulfuric flames. This guy is just trying to use us. Look, what he just got from touching Amelia? Oh, I most assuredly am going to use you. The burned man agreed shamelessly, One newly formed brow ridge lifting in an expression, How couldn't quite read. The torment of hell is a bit distracting, see,

and climb can prove difficult whilst having the flesh burn from one's bones. Amelia, finally regaining herself a bit, peered around from behind the priest's sleeve. Climb where? Amun grinned at her to the ruins of Shio, where the fires cannot touch. There dwells an entity who is. if reached will grant a soul one wish.

A wish? How about, not believing what he was hearing? This isn't a fairy tale, you twisted piece of shit. This is goddamn hell. Oh God, this is hell. Which is why I require the likes of you find specimens to seat me to the top. And you need me as well. Only I know how to reach the ridge,

but only those with the lingering aura off. He sniffed deeply. Life about them, I can. capable of reaching it without succumbing to the fires and falling into the abyss. Once that, how did you put it farther? Breath of kingdom. Once that fully fades, he gave a low, mocking bow at this point, gesturing to himself as a whole. You'll be as bare to the fires of hell as all the rest.

Alex changed a nervous glance with the other three, watching the decisions solidifying their expressions as they study each other. and then, Amun. Only the priests seemed to still hold reservations. Nero, Himmler, you just expect us to allow you to pass back into the world unchecked. A sudden clarion horn blast interrupted the priest sire, and how turned to see the red glow at the mouth of the tunnel begin flashing and flickering again. Not rescue lights, bodies, bodies leaking from the walls of hell like an infection, their purulent flow coursing over the mouth of the tunnel in rapid fleeting shadows cast from the light of hellfire beyond.

Amun tipped his head in a motion of complete disinterest. This ball only sleep for a brief time. Before long it too will begin to flow again with the souls of the damned of the call of Charon's horn. What choice do you have? The priest's face hardened. There's always a choice. I'll take you. Dr. Turner interrupted.

I'll take you myself. Just get me out of here. The father turned his gaze on the doctor. You would visit that level of evil upon the world. The last time this demon ward the earth, he fueled the holocaust. I don't want to burn. The moon gave a dark chuckle at the argument playing out before him. Do not fret, father. I'm hardly a demon.

Man is capable of enough without any help for the likes of demons, but my knowledge of the occult is unsurpassed. You will not make the journey without me. Our time here grows short. Climb, or burn? Climb, the doctor said immediately, stepping around Hal to stand closer to the tunnel entrance. Amelia looked uncertain, but soon she too gave a hesitant nod and moved out from behind the priest to stand by side the doctor. Hal hesitated for a moment. staring at the priest as he weighed his own soul against that of possibly thousands. But the next burst of fiery heat, though, his resolve faltered. I start caring about other people now.

He had your whole life to do that, and look how you screwed that up. Stay, if you wish. Howell looked up from where he ducked below the cover of his arm, drawn by the indifferent tone of Amun's voice. He wasn't where Hall had last seen him. He now stood placidly between Doc Turner and Amelia, unaffected by the raging storm of heat swirling around them. Matters not to me. These two are enough to see me to the ridge.

I wish you well for your sojourn in hell. Damn it, he's going to this ridge whether I help him or not. I don't care what the Padre has to say. I'm getting out of here. Ducking beneath his arm once more, I'll turn and step toward Amun. The burned man gave him a wicked leer, but turned without a word and headed for the mouth of the tunnel. They emerged to the press of the burning, fetid wind, and the cries of the multitude of wailing souls was nearly deafening. Amun hesitated as the full brunt of hell sweeping blaze washed over him,

the exposed muscle fibers above his blackened jaw flexing and bunching in a poorly disguised shutter. The way is treacherous. He began. His voice, far rougher than it had been inside the tunnel, barely audible above the drone of screams. If you fall, there is no return from the lake of fire. He turned a searching gaze over his shoulder and up, taking a deep breath through the hole in his face where his nose should have been. He went on. We must ascend to the next sleeping portal before you were lay in bed at the fire. Amund moved to begin scaling the war But when no one immediately followed him

He jerked to a halt Curling in on himself as he apparently reached Some sort of invisible limit He turned back to them with a frustrated stare If it's your intent to linger Until your fresh ignites Do tell me now I'll abide a while longer

In the piece of the portal While I watch you burn Well that was enough to get Doc Turner moving Hull followed once a meeting Hull followed once Amelia began climbing and to his surprise saw the priest emerge from the mouth of the tunnel as well Change your mind Pardre

Hale called over the howling but the priest didn't respond only gave him a grim look and took to the wall beside it The climb was impossible A fact which HAL kept reminding himself of every burning scraping inch Pulling himself hand over hand up the jagged rock face checking above him he found amelia and doc turner younger and with much slimmer bodies not having nearly the difficulty he was with his slightly more than middle-aged overweight frame the heat billowing up from the lake far below kept him moving low one blistering handhold after another they climb for what seemed like an hour the updrafts ever worsening as they licked up the concave walls of hell's outer reaches Howell looked up, gritting his teeth against the burning ache in his limbs

as he poured himself ever upwards. The pain in his muscles a dim shadow against the scorching wind constantly racing over his flesh. Amun had reverted to the struggling, wailing creature they'd first met, and he scrambled over rocky cliffs and rises with a single-minded determination of one who was running from oblivion and finally had the end in sight. suddenly Amun's grotesque form disappeared over a rise. Doc Turner, closest behind him, soon followed suit. Eventually, Hal slept a meaty arm over the edge of the rocky landing,

the cracks and blisters across his skin giving him a moment of angst as his eyes focused on them. He looked across the ledge for the others. Amelia and the doctor were dragging Amun by the arms into the shelter of a dark crevice, narrow and jagged against the harsh light of spurting flames. Gaining the rise, Health struggled forward a few inches on his hands and knees, breath heaving and lungs burning. He spit the grit from his mouth, only to watch the globule of saliva hiss and immediately sizzled into nothing.

He jumped when he felt a hand under his arm, and a sharp tug brought his gaze up to find the priest trying to pull himself to his feet. desperate he clasped at the hand and heaved himself up feeling heavily on the other man as they struggled forward how knew the instant that they passed into their premise it was like a breath of cool spring air washing over him and he suddenly realized just why a moon had been nuzzling the dirty rubber aisle mat when he first crashed upon them it must have been bliss

is this what just the memory of mortal life feels like to the damned Dr. Turner was holding a hand to Amun's head, as if in benediction, as Hal and the priest struggled toward them. Flesh and sinews squirmed and spread beneath his hand, but not as quickly as it had before with Amelia. Were they losing their protection that quickly? Amelia turned at the sound of them approaching and gave them an unsteady smile, rubbing her hand against her arm. She asked, Where are we?

"'Hell!' was the Moon's immediate hoarse answer. Amelia took an impatient breath and kicked one of her heavy-booted feet. "'Thanks, Sherlock. I mean, why does it feel so nice here? "'Nice isn't supposed to be a part of hell, I assume.' "'Well, the gigways into hell are eternal,' he explained, "'blis radiating from his voice as he continued lapping up energy from Doc's touch. "'But just as with me, the residue of the mortal coil leaves its mark. Frequently the tunnel's sleep, clogged and sullied by the taint of humanity left by the multitude of souls passing through their walls.

He tipped his head slightly to look up at Amelia from beneath the cover of Doctor Turner's hand. You far are fortunate. The gateways vomit the soul was bent for eternal torment down to the lower levels without prejudice. Had your contraption not been lodged in the tunnel's glut in her throat, you'd be burning in the pit with all the others. Hell gave himself a mental shake To chase away the memory of those Rithing masses of bodies Motioning to the priest

Still at his arm They staggered farther back into the cave That one deserves to burn here How grumbled as he flopped down On to the blessedly cool stone floor of the cave Fire continued to stutter and burst From cracks in the walls at frequent intervals But how it fell nothing of their heat

But not you The priest's voice held a questioning note, and Hal turned to look at him. The priest was watching him. Eyes tipped upward beneath his brows from where he'd sat slumped against the opposite wall. The space was small, and how could see the streaks lining the priest's face where sweat had tried and failed to linger. Hal shrugged, trying to appear as if the idea didn't bother him as much as it did. Freaking terrified him now. Don't know.

I never masturbated any Reval regimes, but suppose I never really worked that hard at staying out of this place either. There's retrospect for you, huh? The priest gave a dark laugh. I suppose, sir. How rested his head back? How about you, Padret?

What lands a priest in the fiery furnace? The priest didn't immediately answer, but how could see in the way he sat silent? Brow wrinkled together. that the question bothered him. I believe our crispy friend over there said it best. He finally began, making a subtle motion with his head over toward Amun, and causing Hal to chuckle a bit, despite their current circumstance.

I was an unworthy servant, he went on. My great sin was doubt. I doubted the gospel, doubt of the resurrection, but what was worse. I encouraged others to doubt as well. How sobered at the other man's heavy words. Isn't that a good thing, though? He asked, running his fingers back through his thinning hair as he spoke. Shouldn't you encourage people to think for themselves?

Perhaps, he agreed, his voice hesitant. A healthy amount of doubt from the average person can certainly strengthen one's beliefs. When that doubt is coming directly from your church leader, well, it tends to have a much greater impact, especially on those who had a shaky belief to be in with. My colleagues found out, of course, and I was taken away from my parish to be reassigned to the city hospitals, where my work primarily consisted of administering the last rights. He gave a deep sigh, then, the regret heavy in his voice.

Oh, who knows how many songs I helped deliver to this place. How could only stare at the poor figure in front of him. Well, and I thought my hindsight was screeched. "'Hey!' Howe turned at the soft voice. Amelia was standing there, her cheeks and shoulders showing angry red blisters, as if she spent the day fraying in the sun. How wouldn't give for all this just to be one bad sunburn?

Amund says we need to keep going. He's able to walk again now and, well, it's time to go. Hal hung his head for a moment and nodded. taking in what little bit more of the crevices reprieve as he could. All right. Hefting himself off the cave floor, he reached a hand down to the priest. Glancing up, the priest nodded once and took it, allowing Howe to pull him up to his feet. He kept a hold of Hal's hand, though, even after he was fully upright, and Hal glanced down at this before checking the priest's face.

Nathan Donahue. Hal blinked. "'Before, at the bus, you asked my name, and I very rudely refused it. "'Oh, um, right. Hal, Hal, a Hal Richardson.' "'Father Donahue didn't release his hand. "'Hal, I'm sure I don't need to tell you this. "'As you seemed to be the only other one among us who has reservations about this plan, "'but don't trust Amon.

"'He needs us now, but will he later?' "'He released Hal's hand with a meaning. full squeeze, and Hal followed his gaze over to the three figures silhouetted by the red glow beyond the crevets. Amund stood erect and strong once more, but Doc Turner and Amelia seemed, well, slouched, tired, drained, with a nod to Father Donahue, Howe moved to join them at the entrance. How much farther? He asked as he reached them, his shoulder as tensing as he eyed the light coming from outside. Amun looked at him with disdain.

You were fortunate, my rotund friend. Your gateway was quite high, relatively speaking. You have about a day or so's journey ahead of you, as you are right now. What do you mean as we are, though we thought he already knew? Amun gestured broadly to the scene outside the mouth of the cave. Imagine, if you would,

making this climb blinded with pain, your skin peeling from your flesh as you drag yourself up to your scarps, your bones charring away, only to regrow in a perpetual cycle of torment. And yet you climb, climb from the burning lake below, from the uncertainty of whether falling will lead you into oblivion, or even to an greater, escapable torment. How did it meet Amund's burning gaze as he went on? I'm sure you could imagine it taking quite some time in this state.

as you are though the journey's swift like only several weeks from the lake to the ridge but i've been climbing for 45 years and i've climbed for much much longer alone stealing from sleeping gateway to sleeping gateway the remaining journey might take me months years even and that's assuming i don't fall amelia cast a nervous glance out through the opening in the wall what what happens if you fall in the lake I mean. The first notes of disquiet, Mard Amun's practice facade. I don't know,

but those who do not re-emerge. Horrible prickle ran up Howe's back, and he looked away. Let's go, then. Before this temporary buffer wears off, the climb was worse this time. Much worse. How could feel baked skin splitting over his knuckles?

blisters rose and burst over the flesh of his back and the hair in his head and arms slowly diminished to crisp black and shrivels. He felt the fire now when it burst through the crevices surrounding him. He felt his body crackling and peeling and he felt the hiss of skin on stone with every passing grip as they slowly ascended the barren eyes, creeping ever closer to the terrible black event horizon obscuring the upper reaches. Howe could feel the drawing?

it, pulling the waves of heat upward from the lower levels in a turbulent blaze, drawing in everything, even the light, dim as it was from the late below. All disappeared into its ravenous moor. By the time Amun sniffed out the next gateway, Howe was having serious doubts as to whether or not this climb would be physically possible? With the tight-jawed moan, he collapsed into the mouth of the small, round tunnel, inching forward on his elbows as he held his blistered power. away from the stone. Then he simply lay there, shaking, weeping, sucking deep gasps in and out through gritted teeth. When, finally, he was able to lift his head again, he looked forward. Doc was laying hands on our moon again, though he himself seemed not too much further behind the wretched creature. His scrubs bore large, blackened holes, revealing scorched and blistered skin beneath. His breathing was laboured, his shoulders seemed too heavy for the young doctor to carry. Father Donahue, Howl saw then, had abandoned his polyester jackets, though the melted remnants of it still marred the once white cotton of his shirt-sleeves, and Amelia, who hadn't had much in the way

of protective garments to begin with, showed bright red cracked skin from fingertips all the way across her back and over her face. Her hair, once long and shiny, had been singed nearly to her scalp and now stuck out in twisted, spiky tendrils. Recognizing he must not be in any better state, Hal fumbled out of the melted remains of his duty vest and tossed it aside, brushing away the last bit of charred sleeve from one arm. Rolling onto his back, he breathed deeply of the life-tainted air. A sucking gust rushed past him, and his vest was suddenly ripped from the tunnel, swept away by the constant drawer of the ominous dark nimbus looming outside their refuge. Amelia's hush voice drifted up from the distant sound of wailing.

Amun, what happens if we're sucked into that black hole up there? I'll listen carefully. He'd been wondering that himself. Thinking of an escape, my sweet. Amelia didn't answer, so Amun continued. I wouldn't advise it. Though I've never attempted to feed myself, I have in the past crossed past with one who has. You are not erased, nor spat back out onto earth, nor out into empty space. You simply regurgitated back through the gateways to take your chances sliding down the river of souls when next Churong calls you home.

There is no escape from hell, you see. Except for you, Hal croaked. They are causing him to cough nearly to convulsions. He looked back up in time to see Amun smiling at him in a chilling sort of way. Yes, except for me, and those fortunate enough to have crossed paths with me early enough in their journeys. Because otherwise, he'd have no use for them, he thought darkly. A glance at Father Donahue told Hal the priest was having a similar thought. Seconds later, or maybe ours, well, couldn't quite swear to which,

Amon shot to his feet posture hunched in the small space as he crouched with his head slightly tipped as if listening his whole body held rigidly still We must flee Halsgay sharpened on him And then rapidly flicked around

To Father Donahue and the others What We must flee And before Hal could question him again Amun had darted for the cliffs Then a sound met his ears a sound like boiling thunder emanating from the deeper reaches of the cave. It was quickly followed by a blast of fetid wind,

putrid enough to make Hal's eyes water, and he struggled to his feet. Clim, you fools! Ammon's furious voice echoed back. The gateway, it wakes. Realising then what the horrible sound must be, Hell spun and scrambled toward the opening, desperately racing ahead of the wave he knew. was sure to come. The horn sounded, and Hal cried out as it echoes through the passage,

rattling his eyes and travelling down the darkened tunnel like a beacon calling home the souls of the dead. The burbling sound grew louder, and the rush of air increased. He was right on Father Donny Hughes' heels, but they weren't moving fast enough. The burbling was changing to a roar, and how, threw one terrified look over his shoulder to see a dark, roiling mass, racing toward them. Part three. Hal swung himself out of the tunnel, bracing his back against the burning cliff face

just as the tide of bodies gushed past him. He turned his head quickly to the side, closing his eyes against the sight and panting to catch his breath. He opened them again to find the others on the ledge next to him, all pressed tightly against the rocky wall. We climb, came Ammon's ragged voice from the opposite end of the group.

Before the flow ebbs and someone tries to follow us. I was about to question why Amun didn't want anyone following them, but the heat was rapidly growing oppressive against his skin, and he simply ducked his head to follow. They climbed, resting when they could at the ever-decreasing frequency of sleeping gateways, their body is becoming more and more susceptible to the debilitating press of burning wind as their journey progressed. Howe could only watch when Amelia began crying, screaming as a large rent burst open across her back.

He watched too, as Doc Turner slowly began losing ground until he was barely keeping up pace with Hal at the back of the group. And he watched all the troubled, dangerous glares directed at Amun from Father Donahue every time they gained a portal. Hal didn't know how long they'd been climbing when he began to hear the hauntingly out-of-place sound of singing superimposed over the distant cacophony of weeping and wailing. He imagined he must fully resemble one of those blackened souls from the depths by now.

But that sound, that beautiful, chilling sound, renewed his struggle, and he pulled himself onward up the rocky cliff with strength and resolve. Amun too seemed to sense the end of his journey, and his blind scrambling increased. So much so that they climbed right past a gateway cave, the sweet cool breath of life issuing from it nearly enough to make Hal abandon the party and run cowering for the mouth. He stayed on Amun's tail, though.

Fortunately for Hamun. They were nearly at the crest of the rise, went Amun, wailing like one of the bodies from the edge of the lake, missed his grip. Howl saw him try to catch himself, but the skin on his palms, blackened and peeling from the searing rock, simply sloughed away beneath his grip.

And with a cry like a thousand screaming souls, he toppled backwards, flailing and reaching to his utter limit. it. Doctorna reached for him but missed. Hal, though, shot his arm out just in time to catch the shrieking creature's ankle as he tumbled past. Hal gripped his rocky handhold with all his strength and heaved, rotating Amun's body around so it was lying against the rock face again. He could feel the crawling sensation of Amun's flesh growing beneath his hand as the creature leached off his touch. Gritting his teeth, Howl looked down.

Amon was dangling limply in his grip, the strands of tendon and sinew worming out from Howell's palm in ropey bands as he held up. Suddenly, Amon's body contracted, knees bending and abdominals flexing, curling himself up like a snake as he reached a hand out for Howe's wrist. Amon's hand made contact with him, and Howe's vision went white. A girl wearing all black with pink tip, black pig tails on either side of her head, bounced up the steps of the bus. Two black-haired, black-clad teenage boys with dead eyes followed her in.

He took seats only a short distance away from where Hal sat, but once not driving. She wore a silver cross around her neck, and Hal grunted her soft laugh at the sight. The girl saw and frowned in his direction. He got a problem. How raised his brows in innocent mockery. No, it's just, you know, shouldn't you.

be wearing a panderum or a goat or something. Don't exactly strike me as a choir girl's all. The girl glanced down at a cross. I can still be a Christian and dress like this, she said venomously. The boy seated across from her looked away and rolled his eyes, but not at him, Al thought, but her. Al shook his head, not wanting to argue or cause an argument either. He simply lifted his brows in mock humor and looked away. "'Ah, whatever you see, sweetheart.'

"'Hal blinked as the blaze of heat returned "'and looked down to see Amun now reaching toward his shoulder. "'He felt raw bone grip his upper arm. "'Hal felt the shock ripped through his body, "'and he gasped, unable to move. "'The jolt tore through him again, "'and he coughed, finally opening his eyes "'to the blinding glare of fluorescent lights.

"'Another light, even brighter than the ones overhead, "'passed in and out of his vision. pupil's equal and reactive. Al squinted and rolled his head to the side, the sound of measured beeping loud in his ears. A crucifix hovered before his vision, and he stared at it in puzzlement. Blinking, his gaze finally clear to reveal the blurred image of a priest.

Licking his lips, Hal rasped. Don't waste your breath, father. There wasn't anything on the other side. Ammon reached with his other hand. the charred bones of his fingers wrapping around the front of Al's face. The beeping was monotonous, and the nurse, the only interesting thing that had graced his room in over an hour, was long gone. Hell stared with indifferent attention,

as the young doctor spoke to him in buoyant words about how lucky he was and how he'd had his second chance. Howe waved his encouragement away with a tubed hand. The doctor gave him a frustrated look. I literally just saved your life. life. At least you could do his act happy about it. Sorry to disappoint you, Doc, but your career's going to be made up a one ungrateful son of a bitch after another. Hope you weren't expecting a pat on the back. Howe was shaking by the time Amun's hand left his head. A scaly foot on his shoulder

announced the wretched creature climbing free of him over the rise to the landing, but Hal couldn't move. He hung there, grasping tightly to the rock as he shook. His face feeling cold despite being pressed against the burning stone. How? It was Father Donahue's voice that caught down to him. Hal slowly looked up, feeling the jerkiness of his motions and imagining a look of terror that must be ridden across his face. Father Donahue's eyes darkened as he realized something had happened. Keep climbing!

Hal just hung there, though, shaking, weeping inside. just keep climbing i wasn't sure if he could but one hand he moved one hand reaching up he grasped at the next rocky spur then the next then another eventually he gained the rise father donahue's hand gripped his wrist for the last few inches pulling him into the rocky precipice hal rolled onto his back weeping from both pain and shame rolling his head to the side, he saw Doc Turner splayed out on the ground in a similar state as he, Amelia hovering anxiously near his head. What happened back there? Father Donoghue asked. I thought you're going to lose your grip for sure, either that or jump.

What happened when Amun touched you? The priest doesn't miss much. I'm... he gasped, swallowing back the choking sobs. I'm the reason you're all here. Father Donahue furrowed his brow in a sympathetic sort of way, and Hal felt himself grow unexpectedly angry. He didn't want this man's sympathy. You can't blame yourself for how each of us chose to live our lives,

simply because you're the catalyst that ended them. We all make our own choices. Al shook his head. He didn't understand, and Howe didn't feel like explaining it to him. He hadn't been talking about wrecking the bus, No, he'd... He elbowed himself upright,

hanging his head a bit as he cleared his mind of the disturbing memories. It's all my fault. The sound of singing voices came back to him then, and he tipped his head in the direction he was coming from.

Howl licked his chapped and peeling lips. How's this singing in hell? I don't know, the priest asked at Dartley, also looking in the direction of the incongruous sound. But I have a little. a feeling that's where we're headed. Come on, we don't want to be left behind. No, he did not

want to be left behind. Struggling to his feet, though, he realized he wasn't the only one feeling the effects of the impossible journey. Amelia was tugging on Dr. Turner's arm, urging him to his feet, but the doctor seemed unable to gather himself enough to stand. Amelia was beginning to cry, her tears turning to steam and leaving bright red tracks down her cheeks. Hal hurried to a side, grabbing the young doctor beneath the other arm and heaving him up. As soon as you let go, though, Doc Turner crumpled back down to his knees. He's got nothing left. He gave everything to that foul among. Hal lifted him again and turned his head, searching, but then drew sharply back, stumbling when he found Amun's putrid face inches away from his own.

Ammon's hand darted out and grabbed Dr. Benjamin Turner's throats, knocking Hal aside with a sweep of his arm. Hal hit the ground hard, rolling several feet before crashing against a sharp rise of rock. He shook his head. Holy shit, he's strong. Strong not only from the doctor's touch, but now from Hal's as well. He thought he might have left a layer of skin on the stone or the ridge as he struggled to ride himself, but he finally managed it.

leaning heavily against the cliff wall, one arm folded tight against his ribs. Blinking away, the burning smoke and grit. He opened his eyes to find Amun, holding Doc Turner by the neck, dangling his body out over the abyss. Amelia was shrieking at him, her ragged form staggering forward against the blazing updrafts pounding along the narrow ledge. Amelia! Alchoked, reaching an impotent arm out towards her. Amelia, stay away from him.

but Amelia had already reached the beast, now nearly fully fleshed, and Doc was screaming, screaming as his flesh burned away in a coursing rise of hellfire, screaming as his fat melted and flared in bright, hissing bursts like a piece of roasting meat. Dark hair was sprouting from Oman's head,

growing and whipping about his face in the turbulence from the doctor's burning body. Amelia leapt at Amun's back, jerking hard at the wild mass flying about his head, but he barely shifted at the intrusion. He simply released his grip, and Dr. Benjamin Turner fell from the rich. His wretched screams joining the legions of others

rising from the sloping cliffs surrounding the lake of fire. Father Donahue was struggling to reach Amelia, but Hal shouted his name, blocking a blast of heat with his scorched arm. The priest hesitated, casting an agonized look, in her direction, but clearly knowing, as Hal did, that Amelia's journey had ended the moment she touched him.

Hal heard Amelia begin to wail, that horrid piercing cry of unparallelelial pain that dominated this place. The sound of it struck him to his very core. Sick, demented, psychotic piece of shit. Finding his feet, Hal crouched, bracing himself for a steadying breath before leaning forward and touching the tips of his fingers to the rocky surface of the ridge. Well, he hadn't done this since high school, but he'd been pretty damn good at it back then. Digging his toes into the stony ground, Hal pushed off with all his strength, launching himself forward toward the towering form of Amun as Amelia's tiny body burned away in his grip. Gaging Amun's proximity to the ledge,

Howe dropped his shoulder and careened into the twisted soul's back, shoving him forward with both palms as hard as he could. Is he close enough? Am I strong enough? Hal felt the drop in his stomach that told him, better than his eyes could, that he had reached the lip of the ridge. A sharp jerk from behind caught him just before his other leg cleared the edge,

and he stumbled, spinning sharply to scrabble at the edge of the drop-off, clawing to find the purchase on the stony ledge as the sound of Amund's torture screams faded into the wood. whales rising from below. Father Donahue held the tail of Howe's shirt in her two-handed grip, now pulled almost entirely up and over the back of Howe's head as the priest struggled to keep him from sliding the rest of the way over the ridge. A vein in the priest's temple was pulsing as he poured against Howe's weight, one foot braced solidly against a jutting spur of rock. He heaved, and Howe lifted with him, dragging himself back up over the ledge until he laid

panting on the ridge once more. Father Donahue on his back beside him. As soon as he could manage, Hal struggled upright, casting an unsteady glance over the edge of the cliff. There was no sign of a moon, nor of Amelia or the doctor. Do you think they went all the way to the bottom?

Father Donahue lifted himself onto one elbow with a grimace. Who knows? Benjamin and Amelia, likely so, but Amun, Oh, Amon has the full strength of two people in him now, likely some of yours as well. I wouldn't surprise me if he managed to catch himself before falling too far. We should hurry. Howe looked over at him, brown's drawn down.

Hurry where? I'd just tackle our guide off the edge of a cliff. Father Donahue shook his head, though. cupping a meaningful hand to his ear. Those voices clearly don't belong here, and I seriously doubt Amun would have risked draining his tickets home unless he was very close to his goal. He mentioned when we first became acquainted with him

something about beings trapped, singing for eternity. I say we head toward that singing. Without waiting for how to object, the priest stood, zeroed in on the sound of voices, and began walking through the swirls of heat. and smoke. The sound of voices kept increasing in volume as they walked, hunched against the driving wind. They came to a narrow stretch, only about a foot of rocky lip edging a sheer cliff face, but it was clear that the haunting song was coming from right around this precipitous

bend. The sound was becoming shriller the closer they got, like a church choir comprised of 80-year-old women with M. Fisima. But still, it called to them. Hal and Father Donahue carefully inched their way along the narrow lip, then follow the cracks around to a wide opening, revealing, Is that a church? Father Donahue blinked as well, making a motion toward his nose, which suggested to Hal that the man was used to wearing glasses

and felt a sudden need to adjust them. I think so. A church in hell. Hal shook his head at the irony of it, but clearly the... rough structure erected from fallen rock and carved stone could only be a church, steeple and all. Father Donahue licked his crack lips. Amun said this place came into existence during the harrowing of hell,

and that hell cannot exist where Christ has set foot. It would stand to reason. Howe didn't really know how to reply as he studied the blatant incongruity before him. Was that a moat surrounding? it. Hey, there's a bridge, we can cross over. The singing was nearly deafening by the time they reached the stone bridge, but why there was even a bridge in hell, how could only guess? It wasn't like water could last long amid this fire, but as Hal thought this, and then thought to look down as the swirling moat. He immediately backpedaled, taking several hasty steps away from the bridge. He stumbled backward,

running into Father Donnyu in his hurry to get away. He swallowed thickly, glancing back over his shoulder at the priest to find a questioning expression on his face. Clearly, he hadn't looked yet. Well, Hal rasped, clearing his throat before he continued. Now we know where the singing's coming from. The creases deepened between the priest's brows, and he inched forward, craning his neck to see over the lip of the moat.

Howe close behind him? Below them, swirling in a river of murky shapes, was a flowing current of human bodies. Mouth's gaping, tongues flopping, jaws hanging so wide that... No, I'll look closer. They had no jaws, just gaping throats and flailing tongues, all singing in discordant harmony and eternal hymn of adulation

while their bodies eroded away from their endless, habitual yearning. "'Oh, he can't stay here,' Father Donahue called over the sounds of wailing praise. "'We have to cross.' Hal nodded, not being able to tear his eyes away from the horrific sight below him. A sharp target his shoulder brought his mind back, and he nodded, turning to cross the bridge. The fire ceased the moment they stepped foot on the other side. It was like a sudden deadening to his senses. Howe could still vaguely hear the whistling bluster swirling around the ridge, but it no longer touched them.

He could still see the fiery bursts issuing from the surrounding cliffs, but his skin no longer burned. The relief was ecstasy, a cessation of pain, a balm against the searing flame. Where the light of the kingdom exists, the fires of hell cannot. Hal felt the tears well and fall from his eyes like summer rain. He choked back a rising sob, motioning to the priest without looking over at him. Come on, let's get out of this place. And as one, they stepped through the open stone doorway of the church. At first, Hal saw nothing as he passed a threshold,

nothing but a vast, empty room. Stone windows led in shafts of deep red light, and an altar stood in the shadows on a diast. at the far end of the sanctuary. Clearly it was, very much so. Hal felt his thoughts immediately turned to Amelia and Dr. Turner. They were supposed to be here too. But then he paused, rethinking that.

No, they weren't supposed to be here at all. If I hadn't poisoned their spirits, if I hadn't brought them down, right when they needed someone to lift them up, well, I'll never escape this place. He felt wretched, horrible, a squirving feeling of guilt in his gut unaffected by the piece of the structure around him. He glanced at Father Donahue as they moved further into the church. The priest seemed uneasy about something as well.

Brow-drawn tighten, jaw bunching with every step they took. I watched him cast a furtive glance behind them and then understood. Amon. Who knew how to be it? Our father twisted soul had fallen before he managed to catch himself, if at all. Yeah, we should be so lucky. Howell knew he was optimistic at best to simply assume Amun had tumbled all the way down and into the lake. Suddenly, he couldn't resist casting a nervous glance over his shoulder too.

Father Donahue's abrupt grip on his arm brought his attention back around in front of him. Hal followed his rigid gaze to the altar, now only a few paces away. A figure was there, hidden in the shadows, and as Hal stared, it began to move, rising from a hunch-crouch to stand seven, no, eight feet tall, and covered by a dark shroud that obscured its face and body. Why did Amun say this thing was? Hal asked, nervously rubbing his thumbs over his fingertips as he tried not to back away. Father Donahue shook his head, following the creature's motions as it moved around in front of the

He didn't. He alluded it to being an anomaly created by the paradox of something wholly existing, though briefly in the kingdom of hell, or perhaps a being already of hell that was altered by the coming of Christ. Broadwings snapped open beneath the shroud, blackened and amulted, a drift of embers swirling out on either side as the air eddied around them. Hal gaped. An angel? one of the fallen the priest breathed in a hushed voice part four the angels head snapped to face them at the sound of their voices and how could see though still obscure by the dark shroud that the being's eyes were bound with cloth lost souls Hal and Father Donahue both cowered beneath the quaking volume of the fallen angel's voice, at once beautiful, even as it was, terrifying. Slowly, Howell lifted his hands from where they fled to his ears.

Ah, yeah, I guess that's sort of us. Jesus, age Christ, how am I supposed to speak to a freaking angel? Um, who are you? A shrouded angel regarded Howe with his blind gaze. I am Godreel. Godreel, Father Donahue whispered,

wincing again at the volume, One of the Watchers. Howe cast a skeptical look at the bindings around the angel's eyes, but said nothing. I was once one of the Almighty's most trusted, cast down into darkness for imparting knowledge to his children. Perhaps Godreel said,

the discomfort his volume had caused Hal and Father Donahue, because his clarion voice seemed slightly more moderated as he spoke. Hal turned a confused look on the priest. That doesn't seem so bad, he murmured, voice low. How'd he end up here, though? But Father Doniou shook his head, leaning in close. The more obscure religious text described the fall of Gadrio with conflicting certainty. One thing most agree on, though, is.

that he was the angel who let the serpent into Eden to tempt Eve with knowledge, and then later taught mankind the art of war and weapons. He was cast out of heaven for following Lucifer in a rebellion against God. He's not an angel in the traditional sense. Be careful. Howe could feel his stomach dropping lower, as the priest taught. And though they'd been keeping their voices low, Gadreel's mask gaze on them was unfaltering.

Damn it, why is he making me do all the talking? We were told you could get us out of here. His words sounded ridiculous, even to himself, that you could, um, grant us a wish. Yeah, because that sounds any better. The dark sinuous wings flexed beneath the shroud before folding slightly in on themselves. For the love I bear humanity,

I will grant a gift to any whom find their way to my feet. Father Donahue stepped forward at last, a probing sound to his voice. Your gifts didn't end so well for humanity in the past. Love notwithstanding. Goodreel surveyed him with sightless gaze, then turned his face unerringly to the nearest window, the red glow illuminating his shrouded face in a haunting silhouette. My gifts were meant to enlighten, to protect, to emboldened, but such gifts, it seems, were not within the scope of man to cope with, and they turned that knowledge on each other. It was my biddeness, my hubris, that spurred my fall from grace. But it was here when I saw the perfection of the sun,

the lengths to which the Almighty was willing to sacrifice, or to correct my mistakes. It was here I found glory again. I abide here now, hopeful of the day he might descend once again and lift me up like Abraham. Until that day I will help his lost children as I can. then can you get us out of here out of hell i mean i'll ask in a rush i can deliver one of you al froze he cast a worried look over at father donahue and then back at the shrouded angel one and then i must rest my powers are not as they were on earth or in heaven once expended i must rest the seven cycles before i am capable once more. Hal stared up at Gadriel. That freaking ghoul.

That's why Amon didn't want anyone following us from the fishers. He shook his head, grinding his teeth until his jaws hurt. Amun had never intended for any of them to see the inside of this place. They'd been his protection, his transportation. God and I'd been his goddamn bus driver. Howell's mind was racing as he tried to fight. on Godreel's words. Seven cycles? Cycles are what? How long is a cycle? Father Donahue's face was scrunched, as if he were trying to remember something from a long time ago. He brought one hand

up to pinch the bridge of his nose. It has something to do with Sabbath years, cycles of Sabbath years. Each cycle is seven years, I believe so. Seven cycles would mean 49 years. Howe breathed. Then he rounded on Godreel. You want one of us to wait almost 50 years to get out of this place. Father Donahue pulled gently at Howe's arm, but he drew away,

running a hand over the crisp remnants of hair covering his scalp. He paced to the opposite window and back. Shit. He couldn't ask Father Donahue to stay here in hell when he was the reason the man was here to begin with. Fifty years in hell.

Hell. The priest caught gently, but Hal kept pacing. Hal I want you to go. Hal stopped his frantic march, running a weary hand over the burn cracked skin on his face. I'll stay behind and watch for Amon. Al gritted his teeth and spun to the man. No, I can't ask you to stay behind. Not here, not like this.

You didn't. I told you. I'll stay. and guard the way. He crossed to Hal and squeezed one of his shoulders. A man cannot be loosed upon the earth again, not in an age that has weapons capable of destroying the entire world. I was never a good shepherd to my flock while I lived,

I can protect them better from here. Then, releasing his grip, Father Donnyu gave Hal a parting nod. I'll wait. And then he walked quickly to the back of the church and threw at the threshold. Hale wanted to scream. He wanted to shout and to tear his hair out in great chunks all over the sanctuary floor.

Instead he took deep, ragged breaths, raging silently at the injustice of it being he who made it to the end. And now they're all trapped in hell because of me. He turned to stare at Gaudrill, who was still facing the glowing window. He seemed mournful somehow. Maybe it was the set of his shoulders, me. be the slight droop of his wings beneath the shroud.

Then, unexpectedly, the angel spoke. I hear them always, crying out in agony, all trapped here in hell because of me. Hal's eyes widened at the angel's words, and he blinked hard for a moment. One man's mistakes. One angels. He shook his head. God, this world is twisted. But as he thought about the strange, unexpected similarity between himself and the fallen angel,

he had a sudden thought. His head snapped up. Maybe there was still a way to fix this. So, did you just send me back to Earth, or what? How does this work? Gadryl turned to face it. The request is of your choosing. I will simply make it so.

Hal took a steadying breath, forcing himself to act before his determination gave out. then make it so I never existed make it so that I was never born Godreel's gaze was piercing even through the shroud and cloth around his eyes I cannot Hal swore and spun away stalking over to the window again Creation is the sole domain of the Almighty "'Gadriel continued in solemn tones as Hal paced away. "'I have no power to strip from you that which he is given.'

"'Hal leaned heavily against the windowsill. "'The stool was cool beneath his hands, "'just as it would have been had he been alive. "'Lifting his gaze, he saw Father Donahue in the distance, "'nealing at the foot of the bridge. "'The first five minutes of his fifty-year sentence in hell already begun. But then, staring at him, he remembered the first time he'd ever seen the priest, and he hurried back to Godreel. Goodreel, he called.

I know what I want. Hal seized as pain shot through his body. A flash of light lit behind his eyelids, but quickly went dark again. He could feel himself slipping. He jerked again, muscles involuntarily bunching in a unified, jarring response to the violent shock passing through his body. Light bloomed again, a bright red behind his heavy lids. He had a steady, rhythmic beeping begin. Something was pressed uncomfortably hard against his face, and he coughed spasmodically as a burst of air was forced into his lungs. The pressure lifted from

his face, and he mowed. His whole body hurt. It felt like he'd been struck by lightning. White light pierced his vision and then faded, only to return immediately in the other eye. Groaning, he turned his head away, blinking against the splotchy after-image hovering in front of his eyes. He blinked again. A crucifix? Frantically, he searched for a face,

but his head was forcibly rolled back to stare at the ceiling. Someone was pressing against the back of his jaw, forcing his mouth open, and he felt something hard press against his tongue. Nearly panicking, he swiped his arm up, knocking away the hands attempting to intubate him. No tubes, he managed weakly. No tubes, no vents.

I refuse. A familiar voice answered back, sounding slightly impatient. Sir, I need you to lie still, all right. This is going to help you breathe. I can breathe fine, I'll argued, turning his head away from Dr. Benjamin Turner as he came toward him again. Please, I need to give confession.

Howe watched the young daughter hesitate And look over to Hal's other side Howe turned to look as well Moving gingerly Searching the space over his shoulder Hoping Pray My son

There'll be plenty of time for that Once your health is a bit more state Hale breathed a sigh of relief As he heard the calm, kind voice Of Father Donahue Reach him from above his head Father I'm in immediate fear for my life

and I want to confess my sins right now. The priest shifted around the side of the gurney to allow Hal an easier view of him. It's not important. Not right this very second. Let the doctors do their work and then... It is important. Right now. My son, I... Howe reached out and grasped the sleeve of his jacket. Father Nathan Donahue, from one unworthy servant to another.

Father Donahue froze in his motion to call the doctor back over. Please. He studied Howe's face for a long moment. I'm sorry. Have we met? He nodded, giving the priest a fierce stare. Or in another life. Father, it's very important.

I need to speak with you. I'll refuse any more medical treatment until I do. Father Donahue cast an uneasy glance at Doc Turner. "'Would you agree?' he began hesitantly. "'To accept treatment if I promised to meet you in your room. "'I can have a nurse tell me where to expect you.' "'Howell could feel the worry began to show on his face, "'and the cadence of the nearby beeping increased.

"'My son, you have just suffered a major heart attack. "'You need medical attention.' "'How turned his head to look at Doc Turner, "'still arrested in a position of waiting. "'His glove hands held to. casually away from his body. Slowly, Hal nodded. It wouldn't do him any good

just to wind up back in hell before he'd had a chance to fix things. He still held a tight grip on the priest's sleeve. You'll wait there for me. Go nowhere else. Father Donahue nodded. I'll wait.

With a horrible pang, I'll remember the last time the priest had said those words. He released his sleeve, swallowing back the thick lump in his throat as you relaxed back onto the gurney. All right, Doc, I'm all yours. No tube, so.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. Hal hesitated, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. That's what I'm supposed to say, right? I've never done this before. Father Donahue lifted an eyebrow at him in a speculative manner. Hal had adamantly refused the blue curtain beside his bed when the priest attempted to screen himself from view. The questioning is said that he sit,

facing him. He needed the reassurance of being able to see Father Donahue's face for this. Haven't you ever gone to confession before? Hale grunted a laugh, wincing at the lingering pain in his muscles. Father, I'm not even a Catholic. I didn't believe in any of this stuff until, but he cut off his words, turning his head away and clenching his jaw. I'm right about this, though. Whatever I tell you during confession, you have to believe, or some of you. Some something like that. I think I heard that in a movie once in something. He was babbling and he knew it, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Father Donahue eyed him for a long moment, assessing him. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind? Start at the beginning. The beginning.

So, Al took a deep breath and told him. He told him about the bus, and Dr. Turner and Amelia. He told him about Amun and things he'd said. What did he? done to the others. He spoke of their journey together, the church and of Gadriel trapped forever in a prison of his own guilt, and finally of the priest's own self-imposed penance to protect the world from Amun being reborn. He told him everything, and then he cried. Three days later, Father Donahue wheeled how to the small covered bus stop by County General's main entrance. Grunting a bit, he hefted himself out of the oversight. hospital wheelchair and sat heavily on the long bench, not even minding the slightly sticky

feel of the dirty metal. A priest had left Howe's room after his nightmarish confession that first day in a state of silent reflection or stunned disbelief. How could easily have believed both? He was sure his story had completely blindsided the man, but Father Donahue returned the next day while Hal was eating breakfast and began peppering him with questions, trying to poke hold in his story, lightly but seeming more and more fascinated than more he challenged it. The following morning he returned

again, two large coffees in hand and seeming different somehow more, animated more alive. Hal had no other word for it. He gave Hal a brief pat on the shoulder now before, bending to lift the worn middle of the wheelchair

seat to collapse the bulky frame. I'll take this bad to the greeter desk, be right back. Howell leaned his head back against the plexigar barrier of the bus stop and closed his eyes, only to open them again as he felt someone join him on the bench. He glanced over. The girl gave him an uncomfortable look when his eyes didn't immediately return to where they'd been. She reached up and began twisting the end of one pink-tipped black pigtail. Um, can I help you? Howl suddenly realized he'd staring. No, excuse me, I was just, well, that's a very beautiful cross. Two teenage boys, their greasy dyed black hair swinging identically forward into their eyes as they sat,

took the bench next to her, one of them rolling his eyes a bit and shaking his head at Howl's comments. But the girl reached up and fingered the tiny silver cross at her throat and smiled a bit, making Howell feel a little better about his slip. The familiar hiss and wine of heavy brain, breaks, engaging, brought his attention back up to find the bus rolling to a stop in front of them. Bracing himself, with one hand against the back rail, he began to struggle to lift himself from the bench, but quickly gave up, flopping back down to give it a second try. Small hands took his elbow in a firm grip. Um, you were patient, she asked, casting a quick glance at the plastic bracelet around his wrist.

Do you need some help? Just then, Father Donahue came jogging back around the corner. Hal. Oh, good. Is this one you? Al glanced at the bus, watching the two boys climb the rubber-coated steps. This one's me, he confirmed. I've even enlisted some help to see me safely to a seat.

Father Donahue turned to look at the young woman at Hal's elbow, and his motions hesitated. His eyes passed rapidly from the neon pink hair to the heartfully-tively torn black clothes to the black platform boots, then finally to the cross at her throne. How knew what he must be thinking. He described Amelia in great detail during their talks. Father Nathan Donahue, he said then, extending a hand in introduction. It's a very kind of you to offer to help, miss. He left the question hanging. She took his hand with an embarrassed sort of smile. Amelia.

Father Donahue's quick intake of breath was subtle, but Hal had been listening. Amelia, he repeated, releasing her hand after a brief squeeze. You know, the hospital is always looking for volunteers. You seem to have a knack for it. She gave a quick laugh and another shy smile. Yeah, sure, I'll look into it. Then she glanced down at Hal. Ready? between Father Donahue and Amelia, how was able to make it onto the bus without difficulty? Taking his seat, he turned to look out of the window. Father Donahue was back on the curve,

contemplating the sidewalk with a level of attention that told Hal his mind was off somewhere very distant. As the bus started to pull away, though, he looked up. His face was drawn and intense. He didn't break his gaze with the bus as it finally turned out of sight. taking a deep breath Hal leaned his head back against the seat good

this was good and so once again we reach the end of tonight's podcast my thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen now I'd ask one small favor of you wherever you get your podcast wrong

please write a few nice words and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again, same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams, and bye-bye.