Mike was stumbling through the darkness when he heard an owl hoot outside. He held to the wall as a guide, rounding the corner, reaching for where a light switch should be. But there was nothing. Just more bare wall. It had to be nearby. There. A glint in the dark. He rushed forward, eager to get out of the creepy shadows and jammed his foot on something hard.
“Holy hell,” he groaned, glaring at a toolbox someone had left out. Then he remembered where he was and muttered, “Sorry.”
The owl hooted again. This time a little longer, a little more drawn out. Except… owls didn’t sound like that. He strained to listen but heard only the city. Tires screeching in the distance. The rise and fall of conversation as people passed by the church. A low throaty moan.
That was no owl. It sounded like it came from inside, but the church should have been empty. The building was locked and the pastor had warned him not to lose the key, since it was their only copy. He patted his pocket and relaxed when he felt the key.
A soft glow was coming from further down the hall, the first sign of light since the moon was lost. It lit a small section of an old wooden railing, its stain long faded.
Another moan. It was louder this time, and now he was sure. Someone was in the church. With heavy darkness behind him, Mike ventured forward as quietly as he could. He heard something else. Leaves rustling in the wind.
Remembering the toolbox, he carefully stretched one foot out before shifting his weight forward. His steps were cautious, his progress slow. The leaves died away, then picked up again.
Stretch… shift. Stretch… shift.
There was a rhythm to the rustling. Except now it didn’t sound like leaves at all. Now it sounded like… breathing. Gasping. He steadied himself on the railing and looked down. On the floor below, the altar was bathed in candlelight. There were dozens of them. Some were tall and thin, others round and squat, creating a skyline of small, burning flames. A stack of polished collection trays shone in the darkness, reflecting fractured light around the room. As the flames wobbled, eerie shadows reached across the hall.
A woman was sitting on the floor next to the altar. No, not sitting. Writhing. Her shoulders rose and fell in time with her rolling hips. There was a shape under her. She was straddling a man lying on his back, her dress bunching up around her waist. Her legs were bare and the dress was held up by the tiniest straps on her shoulders. The candles should have cast her in an orange glow, but her skin was pale as it glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Mike exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Just people. No spooky ghosts waiting around the corner or monsters ready to jump out from the shadows.
The pitter-patter of rain on the old roof announced a coming storm. Unease turned into annoyance. What were the odds the one night he was stuck working here would be the same night a weirdo couple decided to sneak in and get it on? They better not break or steal anything he would get blamed for.
A throaty moan brought him back to the present. It was loud now, wanton and unashamed and drowning out the rain. The woman had picked up the pace. Her head was tilted back, eyes closed, riding hard.
She was pretty. More than pretty, now that he noticed. She was gorgeous. But he couldn’t place her age. Thirty? Maybe younger? Midnight-black hair framed her beautiful face and fell in waves down her back. The thin black dress clung to her damp body, and his eyes fell to her chest. One of the straps had fallen loosely down her arm, leaving her shoulder bare, and she very clearly wasn’t wearing a bra. Full breasts rose and fell in time with her rolling hips.
“I think,” the man beneath her gasped, his voice thin and frail. “I think I need a break.”
The woman ignored him. If anything, she rode harder.
“Baby, I need to stop,” the man panted.
“Not, mmm. Not now,” she groaned. “Almost there. Almost… there.”
The man was trying to keep up but was clearly exhausted. His hands fell from her hips to the smooth thighs straddling him, then flopped to the floor.
“Just a little… oooh.” The woman was enjoying herself despite his exhaustion. “Just a little further.”
The man just laid there while her hips bucked and the floor creaked. Any sign of being an equal participant was long gone.
“Water,” he croaked.
She moaned in response, low and needy. “Mmm. This is it.” He tried to push her off, but she grabbed his hands and pulled them to her chest. Instead of fighting, he weakly groped her.
Mike couldn’t blame the guy. She was both unbelievably sexy and just a little bit terrifying. An intoxicating combination. Part of him felt like a creep, but he was getting swept up in the tide of watching this woman move. Momentum was building and he couldn’t look away.
“Yesss,” she hissed, and her whisper echoed around the wide hall. It sounded like it was coming from everywhere all at once, another layer to the pounding rain.
The candle flames flickered, then seemed to grow. They lashed back and forth, casting the room in franticly shifting shadow, like the fire was in a desperate fight for survival. Where the light fled, the shadows became deeper, thicker, until they were pure black, strangling the warm glow.
The pews in the back vanished in the darkness. Then those in the middle disappeared. The light receded until only the altar and stage were visible. Mike looked down at himself and saw nothing.
Thunder crashed overhead. Lightning struck somewhere outside, briefly casting the hall in stark white light. In that instant, the shadows took shape on the woman’s back, like black wings, before the room was plunged back into darkness.
“Oooh,” the woman groaned. “More. Give it to me. I want it all.” Her voice grew louder with each word until it was a full-throated scream. “Yes. Yes! YESSS!” Her body tensed as she threw her head back and howled to the rafters. A clap of thunder shook the building. The candles froze. Time stopped with the man and woman clenched in violent screams.
Mike’s heart hammered in his chest, limbs locked in place, waiting for something to happen, unable to choose between fight and flight. He’d never been so terrified or turned on in his life. A rushing noise, like a gale of wind, came at his back. Louder and louder. It was a hurricane. An oncoming train right behind him.
The woman slumped. Time resumed. Her shoulders dropped and her head lolled to the side. The candles were small and still again. She closed her eyes and her face softened into pure ecstasy. The room was as it had been before. She let out a long, slow breath, like she’d been holding it for hours.
“Oooh,” she moaned, long and low and throaty. “Mmm.” Her voice was like soft velvet and her body gently swayed in the euphoric afterglow.
She raised her hands slowly, as if they were moving through water, and ran her fingers through her hair. A dreamy smile played along her lips. Eventually, she opened her eyes and noticed the state of the man beneath her.
He was gray and still. Just a burned-out husk. His mouth was open and his eyes were staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Blood leaked from his nose, eyes, mouth. The woman leaned forward, whispered something in his ear, and kissed him on the lips. When she rose, she slowly, luxuriously, stretched her hands over her head and arched her back, finally pulling the loose strap back up her shoulder.
In that moment the air seemed to bend around her, warping the candlelight as she licked the blood from her lip. The dress still clung to her waist, revealing pale, toned legs and bare feet.
Mike couldn’t keep from staring as she stretched. What just happened? Was that guy dead? While his brain struggled to process, a bell tolled somewhere nearby. It sounded somehow both very far away and right beside him. The deep, resonant tone was more feeling than sound, a single threatening note that reverberated in his chest and signaled more to come.
Mike had inspected the church before he began. There was no bell.
A jagged shaft of lightning flashed in the room. Then another, and a third in quick succession. Blue and purple streaks seared his vision in their wake. When he blinked the remnants away, three new figures were kneeling in the hall. Cracks webbed the floor around them. Wisps of steam uncoiled from their skin. Golden radiance washed over the area they knelt, like the sun peeking out after a midday shower, shafts of light piercing the clouds.
The figures were adorned in polished golden armor. Two men and a woman. Swords were sheathed at the men’s hips while the woman gripped something in her hand he couldn’t make out. All three held golden shields worked with figures of roaring lions and soaring eagles.
The man in front rose first and stepped forward. Light reflected off his armor as he moved, driving the shadows back. He was tall and broad, and his chiseled jaw reminded Mike of the weird cologne commercials that always played around Christmas. His face was calm, but his eyes held thunder.
“The Dark Lady,” he announced. “Daughter of the Fallen. Hellspawn.” His deep baritone voice echoed around the hall. “You commit grave sin this night.” He glanced at the corpse on the floor. “Another soul, rotten and despoiled from your treachery. One would be too many, but bodies litter the ground you tread like flies on rancid meat. Words do not exist in this tongue or any other to capture the mire of filth that spreads in your wake.” He gestured to the church nave around them. “And you perpetrate this deed here, of all places. Have you fallen so far? Does your heresy know no bounds?”
“Mmm, don’t stop there,” the woman purred. Somehow, in the dazzling display of the newcomers’ arrival, Mike had forgotten about her. “You’re doing,” she shivered, “things to me.” She stepped carefully, placing one bare foot just in front of the other, and walked across the edge of the raised dais. It put her at eye-level with the golden figures. Mike couldn’t tear his gaze away from her now. The hem of her little black dress rose and fell with each step, capturing his attention as it revealed and hid inches of pale skin in turn.
She looked the golden warrior up and down, and her eyes promised pleasures that could only be whispered in the dark. “My, my, Elijah,” she continued, her voice like silk on bare skin. “The last time I saw you, you were a fresh recruit.” She licked her lips. “Look how you’ve… grown.”
“You are in the domain of the Fourth Host,” the man called Elijah thundered. “The Keepers of the Gate. The Bearers of the Rods of Ascendency. This deed, one of countless, will not go ignored. Your corruption will not go unpunished. You are charged and judged guilty, and you will be brought to justice this night.” He drew his sword, as did one of the warriors behind him.
Mike couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew he shouldn’t be here but couldn’t look away.
“Mmm, tell me more about these rods,” the woman answered with a wicked smile. She pushed her hands forward, wrists together in offering. “Would you see me tied? As something of an expert, I recommend leather.”
She moved her hands behind her back and held her wrists together again, pushing her chest out. “Or would you prefer me like this? For your… safety?” Mike heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being undone. “Would you whip me? That could be fun. I am fond of this dress though, and blood can be so hard to get out.”
The fabric loosened, and the straps fell from her shoulders. She was bare now from her throat to the tops of her breasts as the dress sagged, revealing deep, heavy cleavage.
“Would you put me on my knees? To repent?” With her eyes locked on the newcomer’s, she slowly dropped to her knees. They hit the floor, and she looked down in submission. The dress was practically falling off her now. From Mike’s vantage on the balcony above, he saw enough soft, pale skin to make him drool. She resembled a beggar on the street, pleading for scraps in ragged clothes. But no woman that looked like her would ever have to beg for anything.
When she glanced up her face was full of imploring innocence. She whimpered, “Elijah? Sir? I’ll do anything for forgiveness. Just name it, and I’ll do it. I want it so badly. I need it. Please? Will you give it to me?” Her lips parted ever so slightly, glistening in the candlelight. Mike took an involuntary step forward as he imagined the things he’d like to do with her mouth.
But Elijah was unphased. He thundered, “You have taken the lives of innocents-”
“Innocents?” The woman’s hiss was like acid, the meekness gone from her voice in an instant. “What innocents? Certainly not him.” She spat on the corpse on the floor beside her. “This thing was a predator. He hunted the sick, the elderly, children. His blood runs black from the depravity of his crimes.”
Elijah remained stalwart. “His scales would have been weighed by those more worthy than you. You are not judge, jury, and executioner. There was time yet for him to repent. Now, thanks to you, his soul is lost.”
“For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost,” the woman sneered as she rose to her feet, her dress somehow still clinging to her body. “Though your sins are scarlet, they shall be white as snow. Though they are red as crimson, they shall be like wool.” She recited as if quoting something. “You are blind to your own hypocrisy, favored son. The deeds you condemn me for pale in the shadow of this man’s sins. Yet you would offer him freedom to stroll through the golden fields. A white robe and palms to block the sun. All for the meager price of contrition. An apology is the key that unlocks the burning cage and washes the stain from his soul. But that is no balm to his victims. I bring true justice. An eye for an eye. Yet you call me despoiler and denounce me as corrupt. You and your kind are useless.”
“We are not here to discuss philosophy, demon. Your assessment of this man carries no weight. We are here for your sentencing.”
“And what is your plan, golden one? Door boy. Stroker of rods. Will you strike me down? Send me back to the Abyss? We both know my time in the dark would be short. You do not have the power to destroy me. Not even here.”
“Your corruption is the talk of the Hosts,” the man in gold answered. “But I did not take the Dark Lady for a fool. It was unwise to commit this deed here, in His house, where we can watch and prepare. We are not here to merely banish you for a time, though that alone would be worthy of song. We are here to bind you.”
The woman hissed and leaped back, landing in a crouch on the altar. In that instant, the dress was somehow zipped back up, and Mike found himself disappointed. There is something seriously wrong with me, he thought, as he watched these two beings converse like they were from a place and time very far from here and now.
Elijah stepped forward, lifting his shield, while his companions remained back. The second sword-bearer stood over the blonde woman in gold, who fell to one knee. In her outstretched palm was a glowing crystal orb.
“Father in Heaven,” the kneeling woman began in a quiet voice. “Shackle this creature of the night, this bringer of dread, this demon…”
The woman in black relaxed, and the wicked smile returned to her face. “Elijah, dear, you should have trusted your own judgment. For you are correct. I am no fool.”
Something moved in the deep shadows. It crossed the distance to Elijah in an instant, flowing like smoke. Quick as a viper, it struck. At the last moment, Elijah turned and took the blow in the shoulder instead of the back. So close to the golden aura, the attacker was revealed to be a man. Black robes hung on a thin frame. The hood was up, hiding his face. The knife in his outstretched hand was now buried in the gap between armor plates on Elijah’s shoulder.
The golden warrior struck back, more agile than someone his size had any right to be. One moment his sword was held low in his hand, the next it was whistling through the air. The robed man’s head thumped to the floor and rolled into the light. He had thinning gray hair, and shock was written on his face, the last expression he would ever make.
Elijah pulled the wavy knife out of his shoulder with a grunt. He stared at it in confusion. The blade was coated in a greasy black substance that mixed with his blood and obscured his reflection in the metal.
More shapes moved in the dark, circling the warriors, shifting in and out of the shadows. But they were hard to track. Mike’s attention seemed to slip from their formless silhouettes before they could come into focus.
The third warrior held his sword to the sky as he stood protectively over the kneeling woman. “Lord, grant me strength to see your will done,” he declared. “Bestow upon me courage so I may bring light to the shadow. Show me the path so I may burn the weeds from it! Father, give me flame!”
When he spoke the last words, white-hot fire wreathed his sword, pure and blinding. Flames danced along the blade and licked the air. He crouched in a defensive stance and waited for his enemies to come.
Two shapes struck in precise coordination, one from the front, the other from behind. Their daggers glinted as they sprang from the darkness. In the same moment, the warrior lunged forward, meeting the first with his tall shield, connecting, and launching the shape back into the dark. The figure thumped as it hit a wall and crumpled to the floor in a heap.
He spun and his sword bit into the second’s arm, taking it off at the elbow, but not before a wavy knife sliced him across the leg. A bright line of scarlet appeared. Within seconds, it was bubbling and hissing and dripping thick black ooze. The warrior looked surprised as he stared at the wound. But he didn’t have long to consider, as more shadowy figures began circling in the dark.
“You have turned these mortals from the light,” Elijah said to the woman in black. “Yet another stain on your soul. Now they shall burn at your side.”
She snarled, “Burn? What happened to weighing their scales? Giving them chance to repent? Maybe you should take a poll.”
Elijah’s lip pulled back in a sneer. “They have chosen their path.” He pressed forward, sword and shield held at the ready as he approached. He feinted low and lunged high, a killing strike. But his sword met only air as the woman leaped back. He pursued, slicing left and right and coming up empty. An arcing overhead strike splintered the floor. A lunge meant for her gut missed the mark. She seemed to move in and out of the shadows at will, narrowly avoiding his gleaming blade.
A figure appeared from the darkness to slash at his back. Elijah spun with preternatural speed. His sword cut through the man’s waist and two halves of a body toppled to the floor. He turned back to the Dark Lady and resumed his hunt.
On the other side of the room, Mike watched robed figures circle the two golden warriors like sharks around injured prey. The man’s arms and legs were crisscrossed with shallow cuts. He kept glancing down at his injuries in surprise, like he was somehow expecting them to be healed by now. But they didn’t just linger, they festered. His skin puckered at the edges, red and swollen, and black puss leaked where the knives bit.
He shook his head at the figures’ blurred movements. They shifted from shadow to shadow, waiting for a turned back or divided attention. It was never just one that attacked, always two or three from different directions at once.
Yet he held his own. More than held. When robed figures became too aggressive, he struck with brutal ferocity, driving his sword through a chest, slicing through a shoulder, removing a head. Each dead assassin erupted in fire before collapsing. Each wound was repaid thrice over as his flaming sword cut down figure after figure. Burning corpses littered the floor as he slaughtered. Yet he never went on the attack. He held his position over the armored woman kneeling beside him.
She continued her prayer as the battle raged around her. Her voice was high and clear. “Do not allow her to flee her holder…”
Hidden by the chaos, Mike quietly made his way down the back staircase.
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