The streetlight above flickered, casting a shadow twice my size—
a winged, armored shadow.
Of course, it was his.
Not mine.
He was me.
I was him.
And yet, somehow… he wasn't.
It's all crazy.
If there's one thing I know, it's that he's insane—
the agent of salvation,
the bloody archangel,
Raviel.
The entity who decided I was worthy of his presence.
"They are in there," his holiness said, with that faint celestial orchestra always humming behind his voice.
"I don't see anything," I muttered, pulling my hoodie over my head to shield my freezing ears.
It was cold—too cold for a summer night. I could see my breath, and my toes were long gone to numbness.
The sewer stench here was fresh, raw. It smelled like death and decay… with a faint hint of sulfur.
"Of course you don't," Raviel said, "you were not chosen by the Almighty Himself."
I sighed.
Again with the chosen-one speech.
But I looked anyway.
The house across the street wasn't anything special—a grey duplex with paint peeling off like dead skin.
The windows were sealed shut with tarps.
The lawn was a graveyard of trash and broken statues, all screaming "Don't come in here."
Then I saw it—
a shadow.
Shadows, plural. Human, but wrong. Heads misplaced. Limbs too long. Torsos bent in ways the body shouldn't allow.
Fuck me.
This was a horror movie, and I was the dumb African American protagonist the audience screams at while the orchestra builds in the background.
"What the hell are those?" I asked.
"Unholies," he whispered.
The streetlight above buzzed louder until—
SCRZZT!
It sparked and died out. Even the light didn't want to be here.
Now it was just me, the creepy house, and the faint glow of the moon.
I took a deep breath. Then I walked toward Hell's Nest.
The floorboards creaked beneath my feet, each step like a dying breath. The porch felt smaller than it looked.
CREAK!
My heart almost jumped out of my chest. I sprang to the right faster than I thought I could. (I might have squeaked a little, but who cares?)
The damn rocking chair swung back and forth, the rusted hinges laughing at me—or maybe mocking me.
Raviel laughed too.
"Not funny," I muttered, trying to straighten up.
After a few wimpy breathing exercises, I was sort of calm again. I reached for the decaying door.
"God be with me," I whispered.
It turned.
It clicked.
Then it opened.
The stench hit me like a train—sulfur, rotten eggs, vomit… and yeah, some of it was mine.
"Weak," Raviel snickered.
Shut up. It's my body—you're just living in it.
Apart from the broken furniture, busted windows, smashed lamps, and those eerie upside-down crosses, the room was almost completely devoid of life.
I sighed. "You see? There's nothing he—"
I didn't even get to finish before it pulled me.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The shadows snaked around my legs, dragging me Exorcist-style across the splintered wooden floor. I reached for a chair—anything—but nothing stuck.
Then, suddenly, I was up, like a puppet on invisible strings—
a full 180 against the wall, crucifix-style.
"Raviel!!"
The bastard stayed silent.
Of course. The one time I actually need divine intervention, he's playing the angry girlfriend.
The room darkened as shadows poured in from the windows. The moonlight retreated. Something else filled the space—something dark. Something evil.
It saw me.
And I saw it.
The room trembled like the start of an earthquake. Furniture levitated, phasing in and out like a glitch in reality.
Then they came—
Horrors.
Beings of pure sin and dread.
Things that should not exist on this plane.
Demons.
This wasn't my first encounter with their kind…
but these felt different.
Stronger.
Darker