Until the End

by Rick Wood

  Until The End

  Rick Wood

  Blood Splatter Press

  This book is dedicated to you, my wonderful readers.

  The Sensitives is the series that allowed me to fulfil my dream of becoming a full-time author. Without your remarkable support, I would not be where I am right now.

  Thank you so, so much for giving Oscar, April and Julian a chance.

  I hope you enjoy their final adventure.

  All the best,

  Rick

  MANY, MANY YEARS AGO

  1

  What was once a grand piece of architecture, a classic Buddhist structure, had become a rejected mess of moss and weathered stone.

  The roof that once provided shelter to this great monastery was coated in greenery — not greenery like a stunning forest landscape, or a beautiful orchard, but like vines and weeds and marshland. A tree that had once overhung with natural beauty was now cracking the floor with its roots, its stumps crawling down tiles and walls like the splayed legs of a squid.

  To Om Samsara, this structure was not the wreckage most believed it to be. It was not an abandoned wasteland, nor was it a deserted landmark left to rot.

  It was the place he became a bhikkhu; it was his battleground and, should this work, it would be his home.

  Mara was strong, but that was to be expected. A creature full of absolute evil was a most formidable opponent. He was the accumulation of all temptation, sin and death; the intrinsic and external burden of condemnation — he was the one who had tried to tempt Buddha himself, but was so fortunately rejected.

  But Mara was relentless; he had spent so many years trying to find his way back to the world, trying to reject the balance of good and evil, trying to take Earth and replace it with Hell. Should he ever succeed, Om could only imagine the devastation that would occur.

  That was why it was imperative that he defeated this entity, and the hatred that filled it

  Om knew that everything was connected. Everything is because other things are. This links the beauty of the world; the forest, the trees, the feeling one would call love. But this was not limited to just the good in the world.

  Understanding this was crucial to defeating Mara.

  That was why this temple was his only hope. Knowing that Mara was coming, he had spent weeks protecting it, creating a sanctity, a protected ground. This temple was integral to any hope of winning.

  He had waited for weeks, but he did not need to wait any longer. The time had come. He was ready.

  Om stood in the temple’s centre, bare feet beneath his robes, not bothered by the bumps of a broken stone floor. He had let go of pain, just as he had let go of possessions. He would take what came to him in this life with the belief that it’s what’s required to make it to the next.

  The sun crept behind a cloud.

  Shadows encompassed the temple’s already darkened architecture.

  The wind blew, but in no particular direction.

  Om was ready for this moment. He had been studying for it, preparing for it; creating a holy ground that would provide him protection and strength.

  He would not let himself be tempted. In that, he was determined.

  Mara would attempt to divert Om from his mission. Mara would use anything he could that might entice Om to give up on his teachings, but Om was prepared for a big fight; for fire, for rage, for war. He’d prepared what he would say, and how he would handle it. He was ready for the vile beast to reveal itself and begin the fight.

  Which was why he was so taken aback to see a woman’s figure emerge, walking from the distant shade. The silhouette was familiar. It was from a long time ago, but he remembered tracing his hand across its outline, wishing he could do what he could not.

  He had never allowed himself to verbalise his love for her, for that was something he was not allowed to do. Sure, he had been tempted, and she had begged him to stop denying what they had, but he had not given in.

  She married years later, and he had let her go; just as he had let go of all possessions, all ties to this world, and anything else that may provoke greed. That’s why he understood what this was.

  A test.

  Mara needed to tempt him into lust, to greed, in order to penetrate the darker sides of his being.

  Om, however, just needed to stay strong.

  Yet, as her face emerged, and she walked toward him, he wanted to throw everything away just for a moment with this apparition.

  “Om,” she said. “What are you doing?”

  She was so inquisitive, so bemused. Like she was astounded that he was taking on this challenge, that he was even attempting to ward off Mara. Like he was betraying her by doing so.

  But it was not her.

  It was not Cahya.

  Her name meant one who is the light in the darkness.

  And that’s what she was; only not to him.

  She held out a hand. It touched his cheek, and it felt just like it had felt when he was young.

  He refused to let it tempt him, but it was tough, too tough.

  “You need to stop this,” she whispered, her face sad, in pain.

  “It’s not you,” Om said, but so quietly and with such little conviction that it meant nothing.

  “You need to give in. You need to let Mara win, it’s the only way we can be together.”

  “Stop.”

  “It’s the only way–”

  “Stop.”

  He pushed her back, held his hands out to keep her at arm’s length, and glared.

  “With every breath I take today,” he began, “I vow to be awake.”

  He stepped toward her and pushed her back.

  “And every step I take,” he continued, “I vow to take with a grateful heart.”

  She backed away. Crying. Looking so lost.

  “Om, what are you doing?”

  “So I may see with eyes of love into the hearts of all I meet.”

  “Stop it, you’re hurting me.”

  “To ease their burden when I can and touch them with a smile of peace.”

  She fell to her knees. Looking up at him.

  Scowling.

  “You’re going to die, you know,” she said, and then she was gone.

  Om looked around. Waiting for the next obstacle Mara would throw at him. The shadows remained, and wind was cold, but he was alone again.

  Except he wasn’t.

  Only a fool would believe he was alone.

  And, just outside the temple’s edge, he saw it. Shining brightly.

  Gold. Bright, shining gold. It must be worth millions, probably more.

  Om laughed.

  “Is that the best you can do?” he asked.

  He stared determinedly into the darkness. He did not shout, he did not fret, and he did not back down.

  This was exactly what Mara did. He tried to tempt you, tried to make you give in by providing you with what he believes you want. This was why it was so important Om listened to his teachings. He had no possessions that tied him to the physical world. He had let go of all love that had once attempted to destroy him. And he had removed himself of all fear, and for that reason, he was not even afraid of the epitome of evil itself.

  A low growl echoed around the empty chambers. A rumble shook the ground, but he stood firm.

  Mara was here.

  “May I be a guard for those who need protection,” he said, quietly, but knowing he was heard. “A guide for those on the path.”

  An orange cloud of fire approached, floating from the distance.

  “A boat, a raft, a bridge for those who wish to cross the flood.”

  He stepped forward.

  The cloud stopped at the edge of the temple. Hovered. Waited. Unable to come any closer.

  Om smile
d. This meant the weeks he had spent protecting this ground had worked. He had created a fortress, a protection from Mara — meaning the only way Mara could defeat Om was to tempt him out of his sanctuary.

  “May this be a lamp in the darkness, a resting place for the weary, a healing place for all who are sick, a vase of plenty, a tree of miracles.”

  He moved forward, stepping deliberately and carefully, until he reached the edge. He faced the amber glow of mist.

  In the mist, there formed a face.

  Om willed Mara to enter the temple, to come onto sacred ground, to fight him where Om could win.

  But Mara never would. He would never enter a battle that he was doomed to lose. He would never risk failure — he had pride that could not stomach the fall.

  They were at an impasse.

  Om would not leave the template boundary, for fear of being defeated.

  Mara would never enter the temple, for fear of not winning.

  “May I bring sustenance and awakening, enduring like the earth and sky.”

  Om stepped backwards, retreating further into the temple, away from the face.

  The face in the mist scowled.

  It wanted Om to step out.

  It wanted to kill him.

  But Om would not be tempted.

  And this was the moment; the precise moment when Om realised…

  He was stuck. Through his own plan, he was stuck. Banished to this temple, never to leave. For, if he was to leave, Mara would take him. Hope would be lost.

  Maybe he should just accept death and welcome it like an old friend.

  But he had a feeling, a premonition if there was such a thing, that this ability to protect himself from evil, to put a guard up against The Devil, was a knowledge that no one else possessed.

  He needed to keep that knowledge for the moment he had to pass it on.

  So he would stay here and never leave.

  “Until all beings are freed from sorrow.”

  He retreated further into the temple.

  The face in the mist left. The clouds parted. The omen of malice dissipated.

  “And all are awakened.”

  Om sat down to meditate in the forgotten temple that would now be his last and only home.

  NOW

  2

  It was an unsettling call that Oscar had to make, yet he did not feel nervous.

  In fact, he wasn’t sure exactly what he felt anymore. Trepidation? Sadness? Resolve?

  He had been fighting this fight for a while now. He often thought back to the moment it all went wrong, when he chose to rescue April and Julian, an action that meant the Sensitives temporarily abandoned this world and allowed the balance of good and evil to be shifted. He’d rescued the love of his life, knowing there would be devastating consequences. The unbalancing between Heaven and Hell, the disruption caused, had allowed Hell to open and spew its vile into this world. Mass demonic possession occurred on a scale too big for them to handle. Even Thea, who was a stronger Sensitive than all others and could even exorcise a building of demons at once, could not exorcise the entire world.

  And what happens when a demon is not exorcised? Amalgamation incarnation. The process of the demon stealing its host’s body completely, until they have taken their victim’s place in this world. No exorcism would do anything then. And the world was close to being overrun by amalgamated victims.

  Oscar had to be honest with himself, and with others. The war was lost. Hell had won. There was nothing they could do now.

  And what if he had the chance to go back and rescue April again? Would he do anything differently?

  Oscar wasn’t sure. Possibly. Possibly not. Such a lack of ability to learn from his mistakes was probably why Julian had resented him so much.

  Yet, despite how much he and Julian did not get on, he wouldn’t mind a bit of guidance from him now. Unfortunately, he was an inevitable casualty of war.

  And what good had rescuing April done? Her body was upstairs, writhing around on a bed, her wrists bound to the headboard, with the worst evil in the world inside of her.

  The Devil.

  Slowly eating away at her soul, using her to gain access to this world.

  Oscar spent so much time ruminating about how it was his action that had brought the world to its knees. Every day on the news, more and more violence occurred. Hell was giving a push to mankind; a push that prompted people to commit the most horrendous acts. Children were killing their parents. People were starting wars. Good men and women were committing acts of atrocity.

  No one understood why.

  But Oscar did.

  The sound of a Skype call ended his endless thoughts. He turned the laptop toward him and answered the call.

  Father Lorenzo Romano appeared on his screen, a room from the Vatican behind him. Lorenzo was the man in charge of covering up the Sensitive’s messes so the Church didn’t have to answer difficult questions; the man who made sure no one knew what really happened in this world.

  Imagine if people knew for sure that demonic forces were at work, and the chaos that would ensue…

  Oscar hesitated. Lorenzo stared back. He did not want to be the one to break the silence, but it was going on too long, and someone needed to speak.

  “You asked to speak to me,” Lorenzo prompted.

  Oscar could see Lorenzo was agitated. Everyone at the Church was angry with the Sensitives. Rightly so, Oscar decided. They had created this mess, and so far, they had failed to solve it.

  “Yes,” Oscar said, looking away from the screen. “Yes, I did.”

  “Well, what is it? Is there a problem with the recruits?”

  Oscar sighed.

  “I’m sending the recruits home,” he answered. “They are leaving as we speak.”

  “You are what?”

  “Lower your voice, Lorenzo, I don’t appreciate being shouted at.”

  “How dare you! We send you these recruits, we find potential Sensitives, we scour the Earth for them, and you send them home?”

  “It’s pointless them being here. There’s nothing they can do.”

  “Are you saying you have found a way of solving this situation without them?”

  Oscar leant forward. Rubbed his sinus. Ran his hands over his face and through his hair.

  The light above him shook. The ceiling rumbled.

  It was awake.

  “No,” Oscar eventually replied. “I need you to pass on a message to the pope. To whoever needs to know.”

  “Oscar, I don’t understand, what is this way you’ve found of solving it without–”

  “Lorenzo, stop. There is no way of solving the situation.”

  “What are you saying?”

  A clatter from above shook the ceiling again.

  “The Devil is upstairs, tied to the bed. It is in April’s body. It has found its way into this world, after all these years of trying, and… and, well, there’s no way to stop it.”

  “What about Thea? Does she not–”

  “Save yourself the time, for Christ’s sake. It’s done. It’s over.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “We have lost. Hell has won. There is nothing more we can do.”

  Lorenzo stared. Said nothing. His mouth stuttered over a few syllables, clearly struggling to find the right words to say.

  “That cannot be,” Lorenzo said. “You are the Sensitives. We have given you everything you need. We have provided you with an army.”

  “An army of kids who can do very little against a world taken over by…”

  Oscar stopped speaking. What was the point? He could explain this, be as succinct and simple with what he was saying, and Lorenzo would still not accept it. Lorenzo would expect them to go on fighting until the end.

  Only Lorenzo didn’t seem to realise. This was the end.

  “This will be the last time I speak to you,” Oscar said.

  “You can’t just say that they’ve won and–”

  “Lorenzo, just�
� Go home. Be with your loved ones. Spend the last few weeks you have with those that you cherish most.”

  The ceiling clattered again.

  “That’s what I’ll be doing,” Oscar added.

  “No, you can’t just–”

  “Goodbye, Lorenzo.”

  Oscar shut the laptop.

  He sat there. Still. Listening to the pounding and screaming and banging from upstairs, knowing he would have to go up there soon.

  He had a headache. He could have a cup of tea, as that always made him feel better — but what was the point?

  There would not be anymore feeling better. Nor would there be any feeling worse.

  There would be no feeling at all.

  Soon, there would be nothing — and that would be the best-case scenario. The other possibility was that mankind was not given the fortune of death, but instead, Hell subjected them to an eternity of damnation and suffering.

  The clatters grew louder.

  He stood. He’d best go see how much of April was left.

  3

  A few days ago, this building was a hive of fresh recruits, bursting with potential. Students spoke excitedly about the opportunity they had to do good, about how they were finally understanding their abilities. There was a buzz, a feeling of anticipation.

  Now there was a feeling of despair. Of grave resolve. Thea could see it in the faces of the last few to leave. She could hear it in their voices as they phoned to their parents to say they were coming home. That the heroes they hoped to become were nobodies. That their parents should expect them back.

  And then, she imagined, they would tell their families to expect the worst. That even prayer won’t work. They knew now what they were too naïve to know only weeks ago — this world, as they knew it, was ending.

  Thea hated it.

  She hadn’t been fighting forces of evil as long as Oscar, sure; but she still had the right to disagree with him. If it was up to her, she would arm these recruits for battle and fight to the last. If they were to go down with the world anyway, what would it matter if they all went out fighting?