when they call my name | ✔ [𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑬𝑫𝑰𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓

christian

-

It started with a call.

No name. No number. Simply static and a voice like midnight mass.

Come to the chapel on Fifth. Midnight. Bring the band.

I don't know why I listened. Maybe it was desperation or pride, or perhaps it was that gnawing kind of hunger that doesn't settle in your gut, but in your soul. The kind that keeps you chasing shadows through stained glass because you're convinced they know your name.

The chapel loomed like a warning.

A place where pews once held confessions and choirs praised something divine. Now, its roof sagged like a corpse's breath and fell through the open wounds in the rafters. Shattered glass salted the floor.

Ryder mentioned we should leave, muttering something else under his breath.

Saint lit a cigarette, asking for a death wish with a nervous tick.

Even Xavier, who once broke his arm jumping off a bar counter for a dare, hesitated by the door. He kept glancing over his shoulder as if something might slither up behind him.

The silence here was not normal. No wind. No crickets either, just the creak of old wood.

Benjamin had gone pale, but he didn't move.

The floor creaked under my boots as I stepped deeper in. Rain dripped from the rafters as if time was running out while we were in here.

We walked down the aisle in silence, past rows of pews and forgotten Bibles. It felt as if we were being watched from all angles.

Then the doors at the far end slammed shut, the candles lighting themselves one by one. Flames sputtered to life in the sconces along the walls, bathing the chapel in an eerie gold.

Behind me, Ben whispered, "No fucking way."

Sin and revelation had arrived.

A figure that appeared chiseled from shadow and sharp edges. He wore a suit darker than midnight, perfectly pressed. Obsidian eyes penetrated our very flesh. Like he's seen the beginning and end of every soul and filed them away under forgettable.

A black rosary hung from one wrist, glinting like it had been stolen from a tomb.

He looked human, but something stretched over him like a porcelain mask to hide the ancient blade of his existence.

"Malevolence," he said, and the word dripped from his tongue like venom. "At last."

He stepped down from the altar, each movement fluid and unnatural. "You came. Good. I hate wasting miracles."

No one answered.

He moved closer. Every breath he took seemed calculated, as if gravity obeyed his every command.

"I've been watching you," he said. "All the rage and rage, and nowhere divine enough to hold it. You want more, don't you?"

Ryder whispered, "Who are you?"

The man tilted his head, and I swear to God his eyes flickered to a bright red. "Opportunity."

The others shifted. I could feel Ben watching me in fear.

The man did not blink. He moved like a man who invented fear.

"I know what you dream of," he said, circling us now. "The ache in your chest that nothing touches. Not the music, the power... not even her."