Hallowed Horror

by Mark Tufo

  “What have you done, Lucifer!” he screamed.

  The Devil threw his head back and laughed, then rushed at Marciel like a bull. “Time for words is done. You will die with them, Marciel. And I shall reign over you in Hell!”

  Marciel ran backwards, no weapon within his grasp. His back met with the wall roughly, and he turned his head, raising his arms to shield his face just as one of the Devil’s horns pierced through him, almost severing his spine. He could feel the blood trickle out from the wound, and his sight grew dim. Both hands grasped the horn and he tried with all his mortal strength to pull it free. The fear of dying in this human guise was near again, lingering over him like a pendulum.

  Father Dulante rushed up from behind with the clergy of dark angels following him, snapping at his heels. The Hellhounds chased Miriam as she ran to Isabel’s side. Father Dulante thrust the only weapon he had; a large candlestick, into the Devil’s side. Lucifer barely felt the metal pierce his flank and twisted, throwing Father Dulante across the room with a large, clawed hand. The disfigured Harlot was already slithering hungrily toward him when the dust of the exploding floor temporarily blinded her. A hole was blown through the thick stone with a flurry of Heaven’s angels flowing through it like a tornado. The wind from their wings blew debris everywhere.

  The sound of the trumpet rang out again, the assault of wind and noise sending the dark angels reeling back for a moment. Brilliant wings rushed upward with spears and swords thrusting at the enemy. The Devil jerked his horn from Marciel’s abdomen and the wall then rushed into battle against the army of his brothers, leaving Marciel to slide to the ground. Crawling through the rubble he would continue toward Isabel.

  With the Hellhounds now engaged with Heaven’s army, Miriam was already there trying to press her hand to open wounds. There was so much blood; she didn’t know which one to attend to first.

  One of the Devil’s angels turned catching sight of Marciel and kicked him. The crunch of the broken ribs sent him breathlessly against the floor, recoiling in pain. Bleeding and gasping for breath, the flurry of white feathers filled his sight as one his brothers came to save him. The dark angel was pushed back with several attacks before the holy one swung out to the left, decapitating the enemy.

  The beheaded body fell to the floor and black snakes slithered out, hissing and rearing back from the light. Marciel would not give up even though he was mortally wounded. He continued through the battle toward Isabel as three of his brothers now focused on Lucifer. They were being defeated when the fourth trumpet rang out. Through the windows, two larger angels crashed through, their wings nearly overcoming those already inside. The smaller angels fell back, focusing on the remaining dark angels and Hellhounds. A spark of hope flooded through Marciel giving him more will to go on; Gabriel and Michael were now taking point in front of their former brother.

  Rushing toward Isabel, Marciel could see that her stomach was growing still. She looked like she was nearly full term!

  “Dear God..” he said, wincing in pain while looking down at her. Isabel was barely conscious and Miriam was weeping as she helplessly held torn rags from her dress as bandages to the battered body of her friend. Blood pulsed from every wound making Isabel deathly pale. Looking at Miriam, he was clueless. What could he do now? Did he try to kill the creature that was being formed within her and risk killing Isabel as well? But she was already near death. Killing was a sin. Marciel’s head fell back and he cried out, “WHY!?”

  Curling his fingers inward and gritting his teeth, he ran to grab anything he could that would tear through the bulging flesh. The unborn must be destroyed! He stumbled as he ran, slipping on his own blood, every breath he took causing white flashes of pain from the broken ribs.

  He saw Father Dulante’s body on the ground and he ran toward him.

  Scraping his knees as he fell to them, he shook the priest, “Wake up! Wake up, Marcos!!”

  To Marciel’s relief, Father Dulante’s eyes fluttered open and with his friend’s help, rose to his feet still clutching the candlestick. Marciel grabbed it from his hand and the two men ran back toward Isabel. The remaining Harlot had Miriam and was dragging her away from the unconscious woman. Father Dulante ran to help her but it was too late. His eyes met Miriam’s just as the Harlot spun her head, snapping her neck. Miriam went limp suddenly and was dropped to the floor. Marcos made the sign of the cross and thrust his crucifix outward causing the Harlot to recoil and hiss violently.

  Marciel was staring down at Isabel who was pushing through unconsciousness just as he was about to plunge the candlestick into her. Her eyes widened and she reached out toward him, “No Marciel! Please!”

  He paused, struggling to push himself to do it. The inner struggle was too much and he cried out again, “It must die!” tears rolled down his cheeks, knowing what he must do.

  “Please!” she pleaded with him.

  “I ..I need my last rite, Marciel. I cannot die like this..” her words were coming in short bursts of breath.

  Beside them, Father Dulante was still struggling against the Harlot. Her body crouched low and she was snapping at him, swiping with her nails to disarm him of his cross. Father Dulante’s prayers were fervent and rushed, knowing she would gain more strength and come at him over and over until she could get a grasp on him.

  Amidst the chaos, Marciel placed a hand on Isabel’s head and recited the last rites between sobs, “Oh Lord Jesus Christ, most merciful, Lord of Earth, I ask that you receive this child into your arms.”

  Isabel’s eyes began to close before they suddenly opened wide. Her body trembled wildly against the slab, something was slithering under the skin of her face. Marciel jumped back and cringed at the stab of pain causing him to cough, violently. Each contraction resulted in more agony. Isabel’s torso flew up to a sitting position before flailing back to the stone, crunching the bone in the back of her skull. She lay still for a moment before repeating the action, arms extending out to grab him but he narrowly escaped. Her head thrashed side to side and white foam bubbled at her mouth with a gurgling noise.

  Marciel reacted quickly seeing that demons had inhabited her, keeping their grip on the woman. If he didn’t exorcise them now, they would drag her soul to Hell for eternity. Lost in a mortal shell, he didn’t know if he had the power to do it but he had to try. Raising his hand to make the sign of the cross, Isabel let out an unearthly screech that rose above the battle surrounding them, “I cast you out, unclean spirit along with every Satanic power of the enemy, and all your fell companions; in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ!”

  The incantation sent the demons into hysterics. Isabel’s fingers curled and stiffened as if grasping for the sky. Her jaw opened unnaturally wide, unhinging from the joint of her jaw. The entirety of her eyes growing black, she wailed in torment.

  Meanwhile, the Devil responded with a guttural roar, rushing against Michael and Gabriel with lowered horns. The archangels moved with little room to spare and sent their weapons into the thick meat of the Beast. Black ichor oozed from the gashes. Infuriated, the Devil threw his horns against Michael, puncturing his abdomen and lifting him off the ground before tossing him in the air.

  Marciel’s hair blew away from his face as he continued his attempt in extracting the demons from Isabel, “Be gone! And stay far away from this creature of God for it is HE that commands you!”

  The Unborn within Isabel’s womb stretched against the tissue that held it. Contractions began to push down on it, forcing the birth to begin. Father Dulante continued to hold the Harlot at bay, shouting his own incantations. He’d take steps toward Marciel and Isabel hoping to aid in the exorcism while fending off the possessed nun. The men were becoming overwhelmed and overpowered. Exchanging glances, they persevered, “Therefore, I adjure you, profligate dragon, in the name of the spotless lamb, who has trodden down the asp and the basilisk, and overcome the lion and the dragon, to depart from this woman.. to depart from the Church of God!”

  F
ather Dulante made the sign of the cross and the Harlot shrieked. Arching her back, her spine cracked as the bones broke. The woman’s body fell to the floor and she coiled like a snake, dragging her useless legs like behind her like a tail, her tongue split and forked, whipping about as she writhed. Slithering toward Father Dulante and Marciel, the priest let out a shout and ran toward her. Raising his hand, he lanced the Harlot’s throat with the crucifix, “Tremble and flee as we call on the name of the Lord, before whom the denizens of Hell cower!”

  He pushed the crucifix deeper and the creature hissed and undulated, spitting black, tar-like liquid at him. Father Dulante turned his face to avoid it.

  “The word!…made flesh!…commands you!” he cried, dealing a final stab into the creature’s throat until its body grew still and fell at his feet.

  Panting, Father Dulante spun around to assist Marciel. Isabel’s body was contorted, her legs falling wide, and her heels pressing into the stone. She groaned and growled through the birthing of the unnatural spawn that forced blood from her cervix in vile offering of the life it would spring forth. Lucifer fought desperately to get to Isabel and the monster that was emerging but the Archangels would not falter. Every rush he made to get past them was thwarted by the point of their swords. The Beast would stomp its hoof into the ground and pivot, trying another angle but they’d herd him back, again.

  Exploding into full madness, the Archfiend chanted and the earth trembled. Fire caught to the curtains and then rolled out across the floor toward Michael, setting his wings aflame. A white light stretched out from the Angel’s chest and fought to put out the fire while distracting him from Lucifer’s next move. He coiled his tail around Gabriel’s ankles and ensnared him, dragging him to the ground. Escaping the fight, he bore down on Marciel who fought to exorcise Isabel before it was too late.

  Father Dulante tried to push the former angel out of the way. Looking into his friend’s eyes, he saw the shock and sadness as a result of the attack. Still holding onto him, Father Dulante shook his head and felt the man sliding to the floor. He tried to hold him up but it was too late. Lucifer had impaled him with both horns, barely missing the priest when they found their way through Marciel’s chest. Father Dulante fell to his knees over Marciel.

  They failed. It was over.

  A sudden cry followed a gasp for air as the Anti-Christ was born.

  FATHER DULANTE: MILES AWAY

  Father Dulante stood among the carnage. Everyone was gone. The crucifix in his hand swayed and trembled with his hands and he watched as the blood dripped off each bead. There was no more distinguishing whose blood it was; Angel, Demon, Human..it was all mingled and falling to the floor in a steady pat, pat, pat.

  His ears could no longer stand it and he threw it to the ground. Turning his war-tattered body around, he took in the sight. Pure white wings, ripped from Angelic beings. Raven colored wings broken and disfigured. The Harlot was lying in a pool of coagulated red. He could feel his heart racing and the numbing pain trail out along his arm and throughout his chest. Mangled fingers clutched at himself but he knew what was happening. He was having a heart attack.

  Fear struck him once again. There was no one there to issue his last rite. Desperately, he fell to the stone floor and slid his free hand through the sticky mess of death to find the discarded crucifix but the room was quickly growing dark.

  “No..” he cried. Forcing his will forward to continue his search, he felt the sudden warmth of a hand. Gazing up, he saw one of the Angels. Slowly, it raised a finger to his lips, and then pulled Father Dulante into his embrace. The Angel spoke but all Father Dulante could hear was music.

  They speak in music. He thought to himself before he gave in to the darkness.

  Seven days later – or so he was told – Father Dulante awoke in the warmth of a bed he’d never known in his whole life. The sheets were made of the finest cloth and the comforter was a bright white, full of feather down. The smell of beeswax filled the air and he tried to focus his vision to see further out. Heavy red curtains made from chenille, shielded the windows from any light that might be beyond them.

  “Wh-where am I?” he uttered.

  A voice answered him and he flinched. He had not been aware that anyone else was there with him.

  “Rome.” Was the reply.

  Confusion was evident on Marco’s features until it became clear then that he was at the Lateran Palace. Once his vision began to return to more than the blur of the room beyond a few feet, he could see the face of the man that spoke to him. Just as he was about to speak, darkness closed in again and he was unconscious once more.

  LITTLE SOUL: IT BEGINS - ISABEL

  There was the light again.

  The pain coming from Isabel’s lips was real. She could taste the dried blood. The ticking of a clock was somewhere off in the distance, like the heart of a hummingbird. Time was so relative, now. She had slipped in and out of consciousness so many times, there was no way to keep track.

  Day. Night. Winter. Summer.

  This is how time went for her. Fleeting like winter’s snow falling timelessly to the earth below. Time drifted on seas and through gentle breezes. Wafting through branches like a dream before it was shredded by reality and pain. It was harder for her to fight for consciousness. Her battered body hurt so much that she nearly gave in a thousand times. The images that filled her mind were horrific. The voices spoke things that she could not erase from her thoughts; unspeakable things.

  Prayers only brought her more pain and torment. Yet, here was the light again. Shuddering, she turned away from it and a voice called to her from the distance. Isabel looked down at her body and the blood was still there. Mangled fingers trembled when she took in a full inspection of herself. Dirt and blood were smeared along her limbs, her dress was tattered and filthy, and she was bruised wherever she could see exposed skin. Dazed and confused, she shook her head slowly, trying to force understanding upon herself but the pain was setting in. The ringing in her ears became louder until it was piercing her mind making her scream while bringing her palm up to her head. She was trying to shield her ear from the noise when the touch sparked with it a new pain causing her hand to jerk away. Bringing it back toward her face, she could see the blood and pus, sticking against her palm.

  Her mouth opened and she prepared for a wail but nothing came out. Only the sound of winter surrounded her. Everything else was eerily still and without noise. The darkness began to depart slowly, pulling back to reveal the snow blanketing the earth all around her and enveloping the rest of the world in its icy embrace. She was lost.

  Taking a step, her blackened, frost-bitten toes pushed into the packed snow leading her forward with extreme difficulty and pain. The sound of a child crying from somewhere slowly pushed past the ringing in her ears and she began to remember. The sound of the cry brought the images rushing back. She hurried toward the echoing sound lost in a panoramic field of white. There was no direction. She took a few steps forward and the cry would come from the other way but when she’d turn and run toward it, it would stop and come from someplace else.

  The cry was growing weak. Desperation rose up inside of her and she pushed toward it as fast as she could, staining the virginal snow with fresh blood from her thighs and torn soles. From nowhere, tall iron gates appeared and beyond it a lone tree. None of it made sense but all reason left her when the child cried out again.

  Tugging the gates open, she saw a shadow to her left followed by another. From her right, another shadow flickered past and she spun that way. Between them all was the tree with the babe flailing in agony. Her breath came faster as the panic started to build and then the shadows made themselves known. First, she saw the eyes; gold and crimson peering at her with predatory hunger. The muzzles were next and hung low beneath large, hackled necks.

  Wolves.

  Isabel paused, frozen as she assessed what her next move was. Each cry the child released caused the animals’ maws to salivate more. Their li
ps curled upward in menacing “smiles” and she could see them hunching low, getting ready to attack the helpless infant. In an instant, Isabel sprung forward pressing against the prickling cold. The air burned her lungs and she raced the hounds in attempt to save the baby that was ripped from inside of her. She could see the snow around its small, convulsing body melted by the blood and fluid of its birth. Her eyes locked on his pale, round face and she tripped then let out a scream watching the wolves close the distance. Isabel pushed to her feet, once again. Winded and hysterical, she resisted the excruciating pain until she fell on top of her baby and cradled him in her arms.

  The world stopped for just a second when her eyes met his; so blue like the sky looking into hers. She smiled, pulling his face against her breast and there was warmth followed by a small tickle before she realized he was suckling at her nipple. Isabel’s eyes closed and she rocked him back and forth. The babe made soft cooing noises and nuzzled in further as it fed and its scent lifted up into her nose, filling her with the bond that only a mother and child could form. It was a bond that gave her the drive to protect him from everything, even at the cost of her own life.

  Time remained frozen for that single moment; perfect and euphoric. Allowing her head to fall back, her eyes opened toward Heaven so slowly that she had no time to react to what was about to begin. The demonic faces were inches from hers, hanging from the branches of the tree like bats; they attacked as soon as her vision focused. Talons slashed at her flesh but she held tight to her baby, protecting him from harm with her own body.

  “NO!” she screamed. But she knew that eventually they would get to him. She was already broken and battered at the hands of Hell and all of Lucifer’s minions.

  She felt a pain at her nipple like something being torn and she looked down. The baby’s eyes rolled up inside his head and made the dark, blue-black circles look even more hideous. Teeth dug into her areola, tugging and pulling with an unholy suckle, gurgling on her blood. She screamed and tried to pry him from her breast but it was growling and clawing with his small nails for more. Wrestling the child – the “Thing” – free from her breast, she watched as the demons dove in for him. One grasped his arm and snatched him into the air with the others following. In shock, Isabel cried out with outstretched hands until she fell; face forward, into the snow again.