Malcruxenes: Forsaken Cathedral (LEA)

Places are the seat of all memory. There is no thought that is disembodied; if a man dies, his memories are as much his as they belong to where they were forged. The question arises...If most moments of a man spent was confined to a singular location, what would be the consequence of such concentration of thought? And if that life was dire, if the contents would make a text so morose and scathing it would be seen as the product of fantasy? It cannot be discerned readily, for such matters are of a subtle nature. But I would not encourage ventures into the heart of any architecture composed, in addition to stone or brick, the macabre and prowling remainder of Hell upon this Earth.

Aleister Hopewell,
Liverpool, 1607


They would have flown, but that was too conspicuous.

The sky was overcast, due for a rain. A thing like a man with mismatched eyes was standing by a roadside, pale and quiet like the legendary hitchhiker only waiting for a kind soul to drop them off at the cemetery. This thing was a vampire. His name was Maximilian in this biosphere of Earth, but on Arugia his name was -------, a name that meant Dust. He was weathered by battle and misery, but his mind was not so eroded. In fact, it had grow sharper.

This sharpness was already piercingly good, as things were for vampirekin, so he had no trouble finding the woman (or rather, thing like a woman) who had followed him all the way out here from a city that was now hundreds of miles away. Her name was Mariana.

Mariana was immune to the flow of time, just as he was, and so he hadn’t sensed a change in her at all. If she had been human, he supposed the change would have terrified him. He had no idea how mortals could live with that kind of internal clock silently shutting down everything…everything that mattered.

Their car, a somewhat aged Mustang, had been the first thing they’d seen upon exiting the Club Diogenes where Max had found her. It was red, typically, and had a leather interior. He’d broken the lock with one fingernail, and the hardwiring was simple enough. They’d found some raunchy magazines in the backseat, and Mari had given them to the vacuous wind behind them as they gunned their way westward.

The trip was, oddly, not for Mariana, not even for him, but the third being that appeared to be one thing and in actuality was another. The panther that had landed on the roof of the Mustang when they’d settled on it, he was the mastermind.

Mismatched eyes blinked with slight irritation. Max had recently received ill news. “If I wanted to start a church, I’d build one with all my—Oh, wait. That’s right. I don’t have any. Delgado’s going to wake up one morning with a silver grenade right where his left lung used to be.”

He paused.

“Mariana, shouldn’t you properly introduce me to your feline friend?” He smiled, if not thinly.

Time was an oddity, an expanse of fluctuating cruelty and ecstasy which seemed ambivalent. Mariana had stopped trying to grasp and control its elusive strands long ago and instead submitted to whatever degree of the emotional scale into which it chose to drop her. She wondered why, at this moment, she found herself experiencing neither extreme.

They were on an interstate somewhere. She had been observing the steady stream of trees rushing by in a blur of autumnal hues, brilliant in the last glories of the sun, when he asked his question. She did not answer him at first. It seemed coincidental that she would see him again at this time of year. But she had never believed strongly in coincidences.

A brush of velvet against her neck stirred her from her thoughts, and she glanced down to find an inky tail draped over her right shoulder. Touching the tip of it absentmindedly, Mari turned her head and settled her eyes on a man she had begun to think she would never see again.

Maximilian.

“Solais is his name.”

One of the panther’s paws fell onto the back of the seat between them, its claws appearing as muscles flexed lazily. He dipped his head down to smooth over a patch of fur, and the rosary beads roped around his neck made a soft bell-like sound. She wondered what the humans traveling alongside them on the interstate would think had they been perceptive enough to see the colossal black cat stretched out on the back of their Mustang.

“We are the same in some ways.” Mariana shifted her gaze to the panther, and for a moment, his glassy eyes met hers. “We have not had a real home for quite some time.”

She knew that did not adequately answer the question, so she added, “He first came to me about a year ago and told me he knew me. He is a Church Grim, a guardian spirit of a church.” There was a slight hesitation. “Lochlynn’s church.”

A sign welcoming them to the state of Tennessee passed by. Humans had such strange names for places. Most of the sunlight had faded, replaced artificially by cars’ headlights and the lights attached to exit signs. Everything felt so familiar and yet was not. Her hands were in her lap, she suddenly noticed. Why?

“I’m not sure what you’re looking for, though," she told him. "Did you have something particular in mind?”

Her inquiry struck a chord with the wide blade sitting on the dash. It flickered alternating blots of blue and black. But the driver knew he was the only one that perceived such changes. Otherwise, its presence made known, the force within kept to itself.

"I've been investigating the Drugpa Movement. It's a Tibetan group of Mystics that have delved more into Thoughtform conjuring than I've seen anywhere else on Earth." He thought about how most quickly to explain in this next pause, running his experience through a sieve.

"I was told by an American apprentice of theirs that to initiate a Tulpa Burial, I will need to claim a relic of spiritual power equivalent to the Tulpa I want destroyed.

"He also said the place it was imbued with said power would be the best bet for the site of the Tantric Rite...which he prepared me for." The vampire nodded to the suitcase beneath his forelegs and partially beneath his seat. The tools for the task were delicately placed in there, separated by layers of newspaper.

"I am trying to read my sword for any kind of indication of a spiritual activity...and that's about all I've got to go on. I was only recently able to decipher distinct spiritual energies, so it might take a bit before we get a result, which will be more likely to appear the bigger the force is. But that's fine, since that's exactly what we want."

Max took the time to place his hand on Mariana's. "I'm sorry about...You know. I couldn't risk you." He was nervous at what her response would be. They'd been in another world before, but now the reality of things was creeping steadily into view. The past wouldn't allow being ignored.

The sword remained blank for an hour. Of course it wouldn't give him what he wanted when he needed it. The flash before was just Orion. The sooner he was rid of the trapped creature, the better.

Silence thickened the air while the Mustang ate up the miles. They had entered a decidedly more mountainous region. Large, black humps rolled in Mariana’s periphery. Her ears popped once.

She trailed her eyes down to Max’s hand, visually tracing the distinct curves of his fingers. His skin felt good against hers, a small reminder of everything they had ever shared. But she did not know what to say to him. Turning her head to stare out her side of the car, Mari sighed and offered him no verbal response. Her slender fingers wove delicately through his.

“Take the dirt road up ahead.” Solais’ deep bass purred through her ears, retrieving her from the pool of reminiscences.

Soon enough, a dirt turn-off did come into view, and Mari thumbed Max’s hand. “He wants—”

They were on the road before she could complete the thought, and that made her smile somewhat. The farther they drove along, the more Mari noticed the smell of asphalt and car exhaust surrendering to the scent of trees and earth. This seemed an odd direction for the panther to send them.

They came upon a break in the trees then, which opened to reveal a quaint, white-washed church, like something found only on postcards or in history books. Yet, the surprise the church itself generated was dwarfed by the sight of a massive cemetery just behind it that seemed to stretch at least all the way back to the edge of the trees. Tombstones of every imaginable size and shape dotted the grass—an eclectic collection of the dead. A pole directly in the center held the ribbons of what looked to be an old flag. But from what Mari could see, it did not look like the flag of this country with which she was familiar.

The Grim stirred, rising fluidly to his four paws and stretching cat-like before descending to the ground. He padded toward the church, nostrils flaring as he tested the air.

Mariana inclined her head toward the vast cemetery and looked at Max. “Would this work, do you think?”

Adept at history, Max took only a moment to recognize the bedraggled and sagging Confederate icon, encircled with the jagged teeth of graves. At the foot of the flag was a plaque made of shining marble that looked more recent compared to the washed names of the other stones, which were made of granite and other cheap material.

He thought about the dead, and how they outnumbered the living. The little church was an outpost for all those who had not submerged into the soil that would slowly sink them, in great indifference, while they clutched at the cross in frightened defense. The church was constructed with care, even if the design was a little conservative. It looked more like the old schools that had just one room, back when time was just a little bit younger.

“Max?”

He looked back at her.

“I said, would this work?”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not sure.” The church was rich with graves, but was there anything sacred here he could use? What was usable here, besides a bloody history of a divided nation, and if that was all it was, what worth was it to strangers?

That’s when he heard the hammers of about five pistols slide into position, and about two pump-action weapons jerk and click their threats. They were in front of the Ford, blocking it. Max didn’t see Mariana anywhere in his line of sight, and began to worry.

“That there’s a memorial. You got folks buried here? Or are you just lookin’ to get buried?”

The look Mariana had seen in Solais’ eyes had drawn her from the car while Max had been thinking. The panther stood near one of the small windows offering a view into the church’s sanctuary. In the midst of crickets’ calls, Mari moved beside him and stared through glass marred slightly by mud trails.

A sparse number of people were collected inside, mostly older men and women, though some younger faces were dotted throughout. The inner room’s small size gave the illusion of a larger crowd than was actually present. All of them were raptly focused on the man occupying the pulpit at the front. He appeared to be in the middle of a sermon, a rather heated one, for he was waving his arms about and shouting. The sight was odd to her.

“Do you see them?” The Grim’s tail swished around her ankles. “They gather here out of habit and a sense of tradition, not remotely understanding who it is they call upon.” He sat on his haunches, tail still loosely curled around one of her legs, and emitted something like a sigh. “This will not do. I can offer them nothing.”

A pulse of spiritual energy sent a tingling sensation down her spine. It had come from the cemetery. Solais was also aware of it, and he stood once more, gliding warily toward the gated entrance. Mari followed him, and while she was certainly on edge, curiosity brimmed at the edges of her mind.

The gate was opened easily enough. Both Mari and Solais picked their way through the sea of monuments, pulled along by a thread of that energy they had each felt. They reached the center, and Mari gave the pole another cursory glance. The throbbing energy suddenly coalesced into a sphere and shot outwards, plunging into the earth of several graves.

A ghostly figure, translucent white tinged with green, materialized right next to Mariana. She gasped and took a step back. It was in the shape of a young man, still practically a boy, dressed in a military uniform that was obviously too big for him. The sound of his ethereal weeping moved her to pity.

“Why you makin’ me go, Momma? I don’t wanna go. Don’t make me go. I don’t wanna die like Daddy.” He released one long sob and then vanished in a wisp of light.

In the space of a heartbeat, another ghost rose up to take his place, this time on her opposite side. This one was an older, grizzled man, also in a uniform. He had a pistol in one hand and a bottle in the other, both of which he waved about in a drunken manner.

“Aw, hell. Jus’ ‘cause General Lee...” He removed his hat, an action which turned out comical instead of respectful. “...got the hell beat outta him at Antietam, them damned Yankees think they got this war in their damned pockets. We’ll get their asses while they’re ridin’ high, arrogant Yankee bastards.” He shoved the bottle against his mouth and tilted his head back, then ended up tumbling over and exploding into nothing.

“You. Who are you?”

Mari turned around to find a specter of a woman knitting something. She was looking straight at her.

“You can see us.”

Mariana nodded. “Yes.”

The woman persisted in her knitting, yet her eyes were glued to Mariana. “Why?” The question was piercing, her voice undulating in distorted tones.

“I...am more closely attuned with something like you than a human would be.” Mariana felt Solais at her side, but he was content to remain silent for now.

His presence did not escape the woman, but she chose to ignore him. “They cannot see us.” She stabbed one of her needles toward the church. “They don’t understand what it was really like.” Her eyes burned with an unnatural blue fire, and she redirected her pointing needle to the tattered flag overhead. “They took our sons from us. Took them away to have them slaughtered like beasts on the altar of war. How dare they? How dare they?”

The woman gripped her knitting needles like daggers, and it was not until that moment when Mari realized the needles had become solid. In a fit of rage stored up over the century and more since her death, the knitting woman hurled one of her weapons at Mari. Before the hybrid could react, Solais tackled her to the ground and stood over her protectively. The thrown needle reformed in the ghost’s hand, and she reached it over her shoulder in preparation to launch it again.

Solais’ roar shook the gravestones and halted the woman temporarily. The humans in the church were oblivious to the spiritual sound, still enthralled by the preacher dancing back and forth across the stage.

It can also be said that time and space are one, like fingers of the same hand. Though you might think of time as three different points, it is all a matter of human convenience in the face of change. It cannot be said that man lives and dies without noting that his life and death existed before he was even born...How else could he have been born, were his time not a potential in the Now? All arises in the Now. And all ends in the Now.

Zen Master Myokusei,
Kyoto, Edo Period

The leader among the men had no gun. Instead, he watched. There was a clink as the can holding his chewing tobacco opened, and he slid a scruffy chunk behind his bottom lip. The guns were all still trained on Max, but he didn’t feel their weight. He just crossed his arms with the Great Knife pointed downward.

“I’m fairly certain I’m within my rights to visit the dead if it suits me,” he said, but then froze. The sword was lit. With one hand, he held it up and slowly held it around him. It grew brighter in the direction of the cemetery gate, which obscured the land of the Dead with the vines that were always attracted by such a place.

“Put the machete down, or we’ll put you down.” They had all their guns aimed precisely at his face, and even a vampire wouldn’t walk away from that easily. The blade whistled as it hit the ground and scattered dust. But then Max swung his foot forward, and a faint little cube of mist pattered like a die onto the earth as well.

The die flickered, and a blunt force came that sent the front row of men sprawling into a few of the others. The men on the sides fired off rounds, but two more bursts from the Die and the bullets ventured forward only to crack the weapons from their hands. More than a few fingers were broken. They didn’t say anything intelligible after that; they either bawled or kept quiet.

“We can talk more when I’m done.”

And with the rattle of vines and metal, he was within the confines of the Cemetery.

The knitting woman did not remain intimidated for long. She brought two miasmic fingers to her mouth and whistled. Mariana suddenly heard something like scratching, a faint sound deep in the ground somewhere that was growing more pronounced by the second. Solais bared his teeth in a silent snarl, and his back arched.

In a shower of moistened dirt, two hound dogs finished boring up through their prisons. What was left of the two dogs, anyway. Nothing but skeletal frames held loosely together by white wisps. They bayed out their hunting calls, without having any internal vocal organs whatsoever, and shot toward Solais, double-teaming him. The panther was forced to abandon Mariana in his efforts to fight them off.

“Dear child, I do hope you understand.” The knitting woman floated above the ground, still holding her needles, which were now folded underneath her crossed arms.

Mariana stood to her feet, wordlessly looking up at the ghost. She heard two synchronous yelps somewhere to her right, followed by the crunch of bones and satisfied purring.

The woman ran her thumb against one of her needles. “We’re just...so...angry!”

As if on cue, hundreds of graves suddenly spewed the spirits of their dead, a motley collection of figures swarming across the cemetery. Cold sank into Mari’s skin. Faces flitted in front of her vision, some contorted in agony, others painted with sorrow. There were more men and boys in uniforms, women with children latched onto their skirts, even family pets. And the knitting woman was in the center of them all.

“We should kill them!” A cry arose over the otherworldly din, and a specter shot out of the mass to gather their attention. His finger was pointed, not at Mariana and Solais, but at the church filled with humans. “Bring that wretched building down on their heads! Let them see what despair truly is when they stand before that Light and have no answer for their foolish pride and hypocrisy!”

Shouts of approval rang throughout the ghosts, mostly from the men, though some women, including the one still knitting, lent their voices to the swell. The rest of the women and the children were wailing, the sound mixing eerily into the specters’ cacophony.

“Wait.”

Mari spoke, unable to remain silent any longer. The man who had first insisted on the church’s destruction fixed his eyes on her, as did the rest of the ghosts. A collective gasp went up from them.

“She’s not dead!” the man exclaimed.

Mari smiled. “Not entirely, no.” She unfolded her wings from her back, exposing them to the ghosts’ astonished stares. “Please, reconsider your actions. Killing more humans will do nothing to ease your suffering.”

The creak of the gate reached her ears then, and she turned her head to see Max coming toward them.

He thrusts his fists against the posts
And still insists he sees the ghosts.

Stephen King, It


The short sword was a bolt in his hand, phantom qi fluxing from his fingers to the edge of the blade and back again. It was frail, however, compared to the pearlescent light which infused it during the Arugian Hemispheric War, when Max was given the name Dyscen, or “Dust.” Granted, the dead polluted that battleground so entirely that it was nearly inexhaustible.

It was raised over the warrior’s head until he approached her, Mariana, and then fell as he noticed the general pause of the scene. Regardless, it was tense. The risen shades before them were the expression of Thanatic human desire, called Ectoplasts. Dust had studied over them numerous times; they were the most common sort of ghosts, and came in several variants based on the method of death.

“Mariana?” He took on the voice of a concerned boyfriend looking at some thugs. “These guys, ahm, bugging you?”

A couple of ghosts snorted.

“Seriously, though…” Max raised his blade, showing it as if showcasing a gift. “You didn’t have any sort of mischief on your minds, did you?” He stared them all down, daring them to challenge the wide and uncompromisingly sharp spectro-metal, weaving colors into the air with each swing.

One ghost stepped, floated rather, forward. “I shouldn’t be able to see that thing as well as a living mortal, but clear as day, that’s what I see.”

There were murmurs among the graves. The old woman who forever knitted gave Max a look of pure consternation. He glared back, but that didn’t halt her tongue. “You’re the one that woke us up, aren’t cha? With that there knife. Well, we ain’t gonna bow for nobody but Jesus. Angel or no angel.”

“And I’m sure the Nazarene approves,” he said. “Could you at least pretend to have standards? Irrational, anyone?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “We aim to keep order where we live, and if we want to take back what’s ours--“ she pointed to the church, “--then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Live? Don’t kid me. That train came and left once upon a time. Let the living be.” Max was suddenly face-to-face with the old woman, his sword angled at her chin. “In exchange, I’ll give you a gift. But first…Lead me to the oldest graves.”

“Get that thing out of my face.” The woman screwed her face into a scowl. “How dare you treat a lady that way? Hmph.”

She floated past Max, her head held like any Southern woman would, aristocratic or not. When she passed Mari, she stuck out a needle almost casually and nicked one of the angel’s wings.

“Hey!” Mari spun around and fixed the ghost with an indignant glare.

“Sorry, dear. I wanted to make sure, you know.” The woman looked at her for moment, then over at Max, then back at Mari. “Strange that you’d be with somebody like him.” She leaned in closer, assuming the standard position for gossiping about someone in the same vicinity, and whispered, “He doesn’t strike me as a gentleman, you know. Especially not for an angel, if that’s really what you are.” With that, she turned and floated deeper into the cemetery.

Mari stared in disbelief after her, then shook her head and laughed softly. Max drew up next to her. “What was that all about?”

She knew perfectly well that he had heard everything the ghost had said, but she played along for her own amusement. “She thinks you’re trash.” A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “And that you must have dishonorable intentions towards me. Who knew? I’m glad she warned me first.”

Laughing to herself still, Mariana followed their spectral guide’s trail, wending her way through grave markers. It didn’t take long for the woman to halt, floating almost lazily over a large group of severely weathered tombstones.

“These are the oldest, as far as I know. Unless there are hidden graves without markers somewhere.”

Mariana glanced at Max and brushed her fingers against his arm. “You want one of them opened? Which one?” She ran her eyes over the closest stones, many of them elaborate affairs with stone slabs covering the grave itself along with headstones.

“Try whichever one you’d like. I can only say there’s something in this general area.”

She nodded, then settled on one of the more earthy graves. A few streams of water energy from her palm slid into the ground and shifted the dirt away. There was a simple wooden coffin inside. Nothing else out of the ordinary seemed to be present.

“Unless you think there’s something you want inside that, I don’t think there’s anything in this one. I’m certainly not opening it.”

The corner of the vampire's mouth slanted in disappointment at their first attempt. With several more blasts of water, they had uncovered and filled over six graves. They came to the third grave with a slab covering it, and Max lifted it himself, the southern souls observing his strength with some curiosity.

After another rush of Mariana's Water Qi had unearthed the resting place, her vampire lover had plopped into the hole to take the lid off the coffin. Strangely, it wouldn't budge, not even with enough force applied to rip a human in half. He shook it, experimentally, and--

Cl-clack. A mechanism resounded, and he popped his tongue against his palate a few times to pronounce his satisfaction.

A moment later, he was placing a small urn on top of the same slab he'd just removed earlier, positioning it carefully as the moon stood over his shoulder. It looked far more real to the specters than the Great Knife did, and a few of them were even able to touch it with their cold, empty hands.

Mariana seemed to watch all this, and when Max asked her to go to the car and get the briefcase, she obliged. Better to solve all this now than deal with it forever. There was no trace of the thugs this time, and she had it back to Max just as he was finished putting several tombstones around the slab in a ring.

"Alright, now. Mariana, please, fill up the Urn. Careful, now. We need it intact. That's a Roman antique, by the way. Coveted by thieves that brought it to this land during the Confederate Era from a New York museum."

She filled the Urn, and he dipped his sword inside it. Immediately, he felt Orion's rage, but he had no hope in the world, not anymore. The doppelganger was an indiscriminate murderer, and had not had much issue slaughtering women in particular. He was at a loss as to why he would feel bad about ridding the world of his existence, but he figured it was like losing a family member-- no matter how psycho they are, you are always sorry to see them go.

The ghosts immediately grew when the Urn lit up, and Mariana grabbed Max by the hand to pull him out of the ritual circle. They had to get away from the ghosts. Those spirits were hungry! Their ectoplast bodies jerked with anticipation, shimmering different expressions of movement interspersed by the darkening sky.

They tore the craft apart. Orion, the liquid within the artistic shell, squealed and belched profanity as his ectoplasmic skin was literally peeled from his body in agonizing strips that curled into hungry maws of inhuman shadows. Phantom blood spilled the earth, and before they were done, even his screams were torn to pieces.

Solais had no interest in the death of a doppelganger. While Mariana and the vampire were busy digging up graves, the Grim threaded his way amongst the tombstones back towards the church. The service appeared to be drawing to a close, but it was always hard to tell with these humans, especially with all their childish denominational differences in style. He sat invisibly by the door and waited.

His ears flicked at the rustle of leaves, and he glanced upward to see a silvery falcon perched in the tree nearby. Looking straight at him.

It ruffled its feathers and casually preened a few. “What are you doing here, kyak? This is my domain, Displaced One.”

“Have the Seraphs of Heaven nothing better to do with their time than form a gossip network?” Solais’ tail twitched irritably.

“Kyak, I did not participate, if they did.” The sarcasm of the question was lost on the falcon Grim. It finished its grooming (not that it needed to maintain its physical appearance) and followed Solais’ eyes to the door. “If you are looking for a new home, it is not to be found here. Not that you’d want this to be your home. But, kyak, I am bound to the building, not them.”

Solais was quiet for a few moments, then, “Why? Why are we only concerned about buildings?”

The falcon clacked its beak in exasperation. “Kyak, why are you so full of questions, Displaced One?” It lifted into the air and moved to the top of the church, just over the door, and stared down at the panther. “This is not where you belong, kyak. Seek somewhere else.”

Sepulchral screams rang in Solais’ ears. The church doors opened, and humans trickled out. Mariana and her companion appeared in the corner of his vision. He padded back to the car and resumed his position stretched out in the backseat.
* * * * *


Mariana approached the cemetery gate, followed closely by Max. Before she passed through, she turned and pressed a hand against Max’s chest. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

A wisp of a smile passed over his face, and he suddenly looked a little less careworn. “Yeah.”

Mariana smiled back and stroked his cheek. “We should celebrate, then. I’ll give you permission to be as dishonorable towards me as you’d like.” She offered him a wink and withdrew her hand, then turned and exited the cemetery.

The first thing she noticed was the group of humans gathered just outside the church door. Every single one of them was staring at her and Max as they emerged from the graveyard. “This might not be good,” she whispered.

One of the bolder men shuffled forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the two of them. “You're the heathens Preacher said God just told him about. What devil's business were you doing?”

Mari held up her hands and attempted to calm the man. “We weren’t doing anything that would harm—”

The barrel of a pistol was suddenly in her face. “You, get.” The man waved the pistol aimlessly to his left. “Being a gentleman, I won’t intentionally harm a lady, but I have questions for him.” He trained the weapon on Max.

Mari glanced at Max for reassurance. “Go on. Get to the car.”

She nodded, and moved away from the group, though not without sustaining the withering glances of several of the humans. Upon reaching the Mustang, she found Solais already waiting in the backseat.

“Where is your male friend?” His tail draped over her shoulder again.

“He’s being held up by—” She stopped in mid-sentence, and her eyes widened. The ghosts from the cemetery were literally pouring over the fence in droves, more solid than she had yet seen them. And apparently, the humans saw them, as well.

Screams of men and women alike filled the night air as they scattered, hunted down by the specters of the past still thirsty for violence. Only Max appeared collected, calmly slicing ghosts who threatened him to shreds with the Great Knife.

“You should go get him, so we can leave this place.” Solais sounded bored and utterly nonplussed by the spectral chaos raging in the area.

“Uh...” Mari slid over into the driver’s seat, dazzled by the array of buttons and switches and lights everywhere. She swallowed. “I...don’t know how to work anything here. Except this.” She turned their makeshift key in the ignition, and the car came to life. “Um...but...how to get it moving?”

She tried to remember what Max had done earlier, and her eyes fell on the gear shift. “Oh! That’s right, you’re supposed to pull this down to...the D.” It didn’t budge, and she was perplexed. Frustrated, she pressed her foot down onto one of the pedals, which luckily, happened to be the brake. She tried again, and this time, the gear shift slid down into drive with ease. “There! Um...now...” She took her foot off the brake, and the car began to roll forward slowly. She let out a squeak of surprise. “Uh, uh...I should be able to make this go faster...” She hit the gas (much too hard), and the car lunged forward. “Eep!”

She didn’t really know what happened after that, at least until the car crashed through one of the church’s walls, spilling dust and wood splinters onto her while she curled into a fetal position in the seat. Solais was still unperturbed, though a faint rumble of what sounded like laughter came from the backseat.

Ghosts and humans were still swarming outside in a strange dance. She didn’t want to move.

“Mari! Are you okay?” Max had sprinted to the passenger side door and was in the process of getting into the car, foregoing the use of the door.

“I’m fine,” she said and uncurled her body. There was a bit of an awkward shuffling of positions in which Max crawled over Mari to the driver’s seat, and she scooted over to the opposite side, still partially on her back. In no time at all, Max had the car out of the wreckage and back on the road, leaving the humans and the ghosts of the Confederacy behind.

Mari broke the silence with a laugh and rested her head against Max’s hip as he drove. “Oh, that was fun!”

Solais looked up at the sky to see a silvery form gliding away from the church, screeching its freedom to the heavens.

“Oh, that was fun!”

She was hysterical, and it didn't take long for that lovely infection to spread. When they had both finished cackling he turned his focus to the road with renewed concentration. For once a faceless one did not haunt his vision. What an awakening! However, he had such a fill of the being he did not even like to dwell on it's absence: that was the real method of escaping the power Orion once held.

And so they drove further still, until some stray movement called their attention from the hunt. It was a cluster of adolescents, heads turned in towards their assembly and looking very wizened for their age, like a troupe of prodigies.

The wheels ceased beside the gang and Max popped his door open. “First one in gets the candy.”

The youths were mostly male, but the females of the group seemed to hold more authority. One of these spoke. “You new here?” The voice had no twang in it at all, which was slightly refreshing.

“We’re real estate agents.”

“Do real estate agents have good insurance? If not, you might want to scout around…” The other teenagers were ogling the automobile. A side mirror dropped off and splintered in a deadpan way.

“Yes, well, we got the other party’s information. Now, if you could be so kind as to direct us to any kind of derelict church in need of renovation?”

The children fought about it for a few minutes, tossing hair over shoulders and biting nails, but they eventually agreed on one thing.

“There’s a church called Saint Moorcreek’s or something off Rosemary Road, where all the Catholic communities used to stay before the big religious uproar. There’s still some folk out there, but not a lot, and the church there is pretty empty. Loads of bad mojo there, though. My cousin Clint aged six years when he came out of it the night they were playing lockup. Never went back.”

“Sounds…Like it could work as a tourist attraction if nothing else. Thanks for the instructions.” Max pulled out the map he had received at the last gas station and marked off Rosemary Rd. “I owe you guys. If I had any money, I’d pay gladly.”

They waved him off, and this time, the location was definite.

“A Catholic church, hm? I think you’ll feel more at home there, don’t you think?” Mari glanced over her shoulder at Solais.

A purr rumbled almost absentmindedly in his throat, but he did not offer any other reply. He was staring, unblinking, outside the car at the trees rushing by. His tail twitched serpentine against her neck.

Rebuffed by his silence, Mari took to watching the passing scenery, not that there was much of interest. At least, until they finally found Rosemary Rd. and turned down it. They were in a very thickly wooded area, the trees bending across the road to form a continuous arch reminiscent, in fact, of elaborate cathedral doorways. The leaves fell at a noticeably faster rate, as though the trees were eagerly rushing toward their winter deaths. One landed on her shoulder as they drove beneath the canopy, and Solais’ tail flicked it off.

“This place... Something feels different.” Mari’s skin rippled with gooseflesh.

Solais spoke then. “The children wisely warned us. There is rampant spiritual activity ahead. We should be cautious.”

The road suddenly ended in a huge cul-de-sac lined with small dwellings which Mari would have assumed were abandoned had it not been for the presence of a man weeding flower beds just outside one. The curtains in the window of another house abruptly shut. The signs of life were minute yet certainly existent.

Straight ahead at the top of the circle, there was a sign displaying the name “St. Malcruxenes Cathedral” next to a small footpath leading deeper into the trees. Mari eyed their surroundings, then remarked, “Do you have an affinity for churches hidden in dark forests, Solais? We couldn’t have found you something more...inviting?”

Solais had no chance to reply. The wheels beneath them suddenly shook, as if something was struggling to move them, and then they were hurtling forward into trees. Max yelled out, smashed his window…and then, and then… Another force crushed the car downward, flattening the hood.

There was a roar as water the force of a hurricane shot the doors from the vehicle and a giant knife whipped in a spiral through the air, held by a force of nature and seeking any unseen flesh. Aquatic force fluxed and carried the vampire, directed by his Nephilim lover. The blood came in droves, and Max gave faint shape to their foe from the blood; it was how the angel's sword found its throat.

In that last spray of blood, a blackening face became clear, and a tongue lolled in agony. Two massive hands tried to stop up the blood. They couldn’t hold it in, and the creature groaned. It grasped the car with one hand, standing there amongst the trees near the cul-de-sac, and then smashed its skull frantically against the heavy steel until it gradually went still.

Max wiped the blood from his mouth, and touched a gash in his side. His blood was much darker than a normal vampire, and it was gathering and returning to him instead of simply regenerating. The virtue within his blood was too strong to leave behind.

The circle of houses remained silent as the giant began to go foul. The stench was like a bathroom where Max had once seen a fetus floating in a toilet, half-flushed and rotten.

“Better mark this place on your map. I love it.” He was catching his breath as he limped to Mariana, then looked her over for signs of anything broken. Solais was beside her, and she seemed to bend down towards him. Max's eyebrows furrowed.

"He okay?"

The injuries were sparse but ugly. Solais’ fur was matted and wet just beneath his ribcage and on the side of his neck. A pool was rapidly forming beneath him. Mariana knelt down and tenderly brushed fingers against the wounds, though her eyes strayed down to the crimson in mild confusion.

“Solais...you have...”

“Pay it no mind.” The panther growled softly and shifted.

Mari noticed the broken strand of rosary beads dangling from his neck. Several of the beads were strewn over the ground like blue mocking eyes. A grunt from the Grim sent the separated string snaking into motion, reattaching itself to the other orphaned end. The fragments of the necklace remained stationary.

“What about...?” Mari picked a few of them up and extended them toward her panther companion.

“Keep them.” It was a command, not so much for Mariana as for the beads themselves. They moved suddenly, stringing themselves together by some spiritual thread, and encircled her right wrist. “Perhaps they will aid you in the future.”

“He okay?”

Max’s question returned her attention to Solais’ wounds. Healing light passed over his fur along with her hand, suturing the gashes. The Grim touched his nose to her hand in silent gratitude. He moved out of his blood, sat on his haunches, and proceeded to groom himself.

“Yes, he’s fine.” She reverted Ashriel to the Argentsigna and replaced it around her neck.

The car, however, was another story. More than just a shattered side mirror marred the once-majestic Mustang. The original paint color was indistinguishable. Both doors lay several feet away from the car, and multiple dents tattooed its surface.

They all stared at it for a moment, then Mari said, “It’s not...all that bad.”

A hubcap came loose and rolled off into the trees.

“Havin’ car trouble, folks?”

The flower bed man was walking towards them, wiping dirt into his sun-bleached jeans. Rolled sleeves and a receding hairline revealed leathery skin, the curse of an aged appearance. There were perhaps slight Southern overtones in his voice, but nothing nearly as overbearing as in the Confederate cemetery. Mariana found the sound soothing in a way.

“A bit. But nothing an oil change and some new tires can’t fix.” Mari never ceased to wonder how Max could say some of the things he did and keep a straight face. She put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

“Certainly an optimistic diagnosis, there.” The man arched an eyebrow. “Even so, the only good mechanic around here’s gone up to St. Malcruxenes and been gone for a few hours. Not sure when he’ll be back. You could try going to look for ‘im if you’re in a hurry.”

“Thank you. We were heading that way, anyway. Weren’t we, Max?” She touched her lover’s hand, then offered a departing smile to the gardener.

“Saint Malcruxenes’?” Max thought it sounded somewhat Grecian, and a little foreboding as well. As if he once heard those syllables dying just within earshot without perceiving them.

“Son, there’s no road to the church, so you two can just take that hill.”

The old man gave his farewell and walked away, not waiting for the pair to return the favor.

Max put his hands on his hips. What had crept below the surface of colour and shade to slay them before? The form of it was enormous; those trickles of blood had shown a breadth that rivaled even the fittest men of Arugia, and that bunch counted each not as one man, but two!

And so they began the march (practically a climb, as it was such a steep incline) up to the cathedral with the haunting name. It was a great nature walk, as trees grew outward from the hill that were thick with life. Max caught a tree snake and harassed Mariana with it, laughing. She didn’t think it was so clever, and nearly pouted the rest of the way up.

And then it came into full view. It seemed to fill the sky, and he wondered just how he had failed to see it long before they’d arrived. The place taught him a sense of massiveness that went beyond the mere components of the architecture, and he was lost in it. Every stone of the place gleamed as if drizzled with a light rain. The broad gates were open, strangely, as if expecting them, and from their knobs hung thick chains that were strewn loose on the stone walkway that met them halfway across the peak of the mound of earth.

The plaintive caw of a crow danced in the wind among the spires of the cathedral. The moon was new, its absence deeply felt by Mariana. Only the stars cast illumination. Now that she thought about it, it was an odd time for someone to weed his flower beds. The air held the odor of wet earth, strangely enough. Wet earth and smoke. Was that blood, too?

Solais padded past the two of them, heading for the large double doors of the church. He made it halfway down the path before he halted, tail flicking in thought. Mari thought she saw him bristle. “This is...familiar...”

“What’s familiar, Solais?” She drew up next to him, concern in her eyes.

“Nothing. It’s probably nothing.” He stood still for a moment longer and tilted his head. “At least, I hope it’s nothing.” The words were barely audible. He didn’t allow Mari to probe further and glided toward the entrance once more.

A shrill, though distinctly masculine, scream pierced the air. The sound of shattering glass was close on its heels. Scuffling noises like the claws of rats scraping wood accompanied another scream, and then the door burst open. A hand desperately grasped for a hold, trying to drag the rest of its body from the church. The head appeared, vomiting more audible terror, eyes bloodshot and wide with crazed adrenaline. “Kill it! Kill me! Kill it all! Burn! Burn!”

Solais bounded toward the door, took a mouthful of the delirious man’s shirt, and tugged him outside, leaving bloody trails in the dirt. “Mariana! See to him before he loses the rest of his blood.”

She was at the man’s side in a moment, employing her healing abilities as quickly as she could. That was when the door flew completely off its hinges, revealing gaping blackness. There was nothing there. Solais moved to Max’s side and rumbled a growl, his claws extending. “Another invisible assailant. But there is something different about this one. Do not lower your guard under any circumstances.”

The blade in the warrior’s hand came level with his eyes, and the false of these fixated on the mirror. “It is a Formless One. The name of it is -------. I counter-invoke the Hierophant ------, He Who Lives In The Forest!” Dual streams of wicked light parted from the vampire’s blade, coursing and meeting in a half circle behind him. With a polished twirl of his body, the ring whipped outward and upward.

The force came for him first, and it was lucky that he finished the summon in time to raise his knife. Else, he might have lost an arm, much as Solais had already feared. No, instead he lost a finger, grated off by the crushing grip of giant claws. The vampire gasped, and twisted the monstrous digits off of him in a sudden counter, then threw his body backward. At that exact moment, the eerie light he had called spread and he passed through the middle of the circle, unharmed.

Max watched as the circle stuck to the invisible presence, binding it, and then he used a force of will to drag the unseen forward onto the ground. It wouldn’t do to fight in the doorway. Not enough space, he knew.

Then Mariana came forward for her strike, her patient set aside in an open grave to hide. She was like an animal, and every tendon and muscle he so intensely knew was crazed for battle. He could also sense bloodlust in her, as Solais stood on top of the constrained creature, tearing at it furiously. But that wasn’t enough to take it down.

There was much more left to this battle; he could feel it.

The bound creature was an ethereal outline that roiled beneath Solais. Mari was halfway to a target she thought effectively pinned down when an additional clawed appendage burst onto the scene. The Grim snarled as he was plucked from his prey and tossed aside like a ragdoll. A fourth arm sprouted then, replacing the other still bound.

Her velocity rendered stopping impossible.

Their attacker was a wall, steel and concrete. It budged not a single inch when Mari slammed into it. Light flared in her vision, and she stumbled backward a few steps, trying to focus. She was dimly aware of the creature’s increased visible presence. It was looking at her.

Hate them… They hate you…

She froze, her head cleared from the collision and yet suddenly smothered in haze. Was it talking to her?

Yes, it is. And no.

“…What?” She took a few more steps back. An unpleasant tingling sensation chilled her nerve endings.

The monster surged forward, a mirage against the cathedral backdrop. Ashriel went spinning out of her grasp, glowing like a miniature moon as it became the Silver Seal once more. It hit the dirt with a deafening thud and bounced into the underbrush. Like lightning, Solais shot into the trees in pursuit.

Hot breath bathed her face, and claws wrapped around her throat. This close now, Mariana was met by eyes that were not eyes, black sockets leading into abysses she instinctively did not want to fall into. Her muscles tensed.

Do not struggle.

She had no idea where she was any longer. Had there been trees? Sky? Her field of vision extended only a few feet, encapsulated in distorting pulses of black and gray. How long had she been here in this no-place staring at the creature with no-eyes that were eyes?

…You are strongly of his scent.

She felt invisible tendrils probe her body, tentatively at first and then with greater boldness. They were from nowhere, at least not from the creature holding her. Several were intensely preoccupied with her wings while others crossed into more sensitive territory, including her mouth to trace her fangs. She shivered and moaned quietly in spite of herself.

Fascinating…

The monster exhaled a breath heavily laden with the smell of blood, and Mariana’s nails reflexively dug into one of the creature’s shoulders. An amused chuckle drifted into her ears, and then her forested cathedral reality snapped back into focus. Rage kicked in, controlled and deadly. She had no weapon, but she made do without one.

Voraciously, she clawed at the monster’s restraining arm, tearing into it as deeply as her vampiric strength would permit. She was rewarded with virtual rivers of lifeblood and a pained howl. Then she was launched through the air and connected with a body. Max’s.