(A/N):
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As the group spread through the ruined chapel,
Jojo's gaze locked onto something off.
"...."
A broken head of a stone Jesus statue,
Lying on the cracked marble floor.
The decapitation wasn't accidental—
The edges were smashed, deliberate, almost ritualistic.
Caroline's eyes narrowed.
-Frown
"...."
Gayathri made a protective sign.
Debbie swallowed hard.
Then—
PFFF—
FOOOOM!
A burst of black smoke erupted around Jojo's body.
Hellfire roared to life, swirling around him in a violent spiral before settling into the skeletal furnace beneath.
Debbie jumped back and almost screamed—
"...."
—but Caroline slapped a hand over her mouth.
"Hey—hey—shh! Debbie!"
Caroline whispered quickly.
"That's Jojo. It's his power. He controls it."
Debbie stared with trembling wide eyes as the flaming skull lifted… looked around… and then stepped forward.
Ghost Rider moved to the fallen statue,
Its cracked cross looming behind it.
He pressed a flaming, bony hand against the stone chest.
"SOMEBODY DESECRATED THIS PLACE WITH INTENTION."
The voice echoed like thunder inside a cavern—
Deep, metallic, ancient.
Cracks spidered across the stone beneath his touch.
CRRRRRAAAACK—
BOOM
He tore the half-buried cross free and tossed it aside effortlessly.
It slammed into a wall with a deafening thud.
-THUD.
Behind the main statue's torso, sealed under a thick patch of white, unnatural cement,
Was something hidden.
Ghost Rider curled his fingers.
"LET'S SEE WHAT SECRET YOU'RE HIDING…"
He dug his flaming claws in—
SSSSHHHKKKK
—and ripped the cement apart in one brutal pull.
Inside, wrapped tightly.
A scroll.
Old.
Brittle.
Bound in blackened leather.
The moment Ghost Rider's flames illuminated it…
HSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!
The scroll reacted violently—
Black liquid began leaking from the seams, bubbling like tar.
Debbie stumbled behind Caroline, dread knotting her throat.
"...."
Inadu snapped her head toward the scroll, eyes widening.
"That substance… Jojo— It's the same dimensional ink from the Uncrowned King's realm."
Ghost Rider unrolled it.
The tar pooled into the grooves of the parchment—forming a shape.
A head.
A horse's head.
Twisted. Sinister.
Almost skeletal.
Eyes hollow, dripping shadow.
It felt like the pressure of the entire church dropped.
Gayathri backed away instinctively.
Caroline tightened her stance.
Debbie hugged herself, teeth chattering.
The image pulsed—
Then—
FWOOM—
The scroll disintegrated in Ghost Rider's burning hand,
Turning to ash that spiraled upward in a black column before disappearing.
Silence fell.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Then Ghost Rider spoke.
"THIS PLACE IS NOT JUST CURSED. IT IS CLAIMED."
He turned his flaming skull toward the group.
"AND THAT WAS A WARNING."
The church lights flickered.
A low, distant growl echoed from somewhere behind the altar.
Something… had felt the scroll burn.
Something… was now awake.
Ghost Rider stared at the last trace of the tar-like substance as it writhed on the floor like a living stain.
Then—
THOOM!
He slammed his flaming boot down on it.
The black goo hissed violently,
-Hiss
Shriveling like burned flesh before evaporating into smoke that twisted and vanished into the stale church air.
Silence followed.
"...."
"...."
"...."
A long exhale of black smoke drifted from the Rider's ribs—
-WHUMP
—and with a WHUMP of hellfire collapsing inward, the flames extinguished.
Jojo stood in the Rider's place, human once more,
The burned stone beneath his feet still smoldering.
Debbie finally drew a breath she'd been holding.
Caroline lowered her guard.
Gayathri clutched her necklace, still unnerved.
Inadu's dark eyes were fixed on Jojo, waiting.
Jojo dusted his hands, exhaled,
And finally broke the heavy silence.
"...I felt something,"
He said quietly.
"Stronger than anything in this church."
He turned toward them fully.
"There's a connection. Not here—this place is just a doorway. The real pull… comes from a church in Bastion, Illinois. About an hour and a half from here."
Caroline blinked.
"Illinois? That far from here?"
Jojo nodded.
-Nod
"It's not about geography. Dimensions don't follow our maps."
Inadu folded her arms, gaze sharp.
"You're saying the Uncrowned King tied his influence through multiple sanctified sites."
"Exactly."
Jojo's jaw tightened.
"And whatever Father Sal is doing… it's anchored through familiar church too. He may not even realize he's a puppet."
Debbie shivered.
"So… we have to go there?"
Jojo nodded once.
-Nod
"Yes. If we want answers—and a way to kill whatever's coming—we need to see that church."
An uneasy gust rattled the broken stained-glass windows,
Scattering ash across the floor.
Caroline looked around.
"We should get out of here."
Jojo turned toward the entrance, hands in his pockets.
"Pack what you need. We're flying."
Inadu stepped beside him, eyes glinting.
Deep beneath the convent chapel,
In the cold stone underbelly that only he and God were allowed to step foot into,
Father Sal descended the final stair into his hidden laboratory in the underground labyrinth.
The air smelled of old incense, antiseptic… and sin.
He ran a reverent hand along the metal table where Cecellia had lain hours before,
Fingers trembling with excitement.
At last.
He had done it.
The special serum—
Crafted from the god tissue he'd stolen from the nail relic—
Had been successfully injected into the ovum earlier today.
The embryo was sealed inside her womb.
All he needed to do now… was wait.
Sal clasped his hands together,
"...."
Tears of holy delusion filling his eyes.
"Your son will walk this earth,"
He whispered to the Uncrowned King's unseen presence.
"And I… I will be remembered as the chosen shepherd."
A vibration broke the silence.
"...."
"...."
"...."
His phone.
He frowned—
-Frown
Only two people had this number.
He checked the screen.
GLADYS LILLY
The witch.
He quickly answered.
"Gladys? Why—"
Her voice exploded through the speaker, shrill, furious, half in English and half in old Appalachian dialect.
"YOU FOOL!"
She screeched.
"SOMEONE JUST BROKE INTO THE PAST—A SACRED PLACE! A PLACE THAT WASN'T MEANT TO BE TOUCHED!"
Sal's grip tightened.
"The past…? What do you mean the past—"
"Don't play dumb with me!"
She spat.
"You and your king might enjoy meddling with ancient bindings, but I warned you—tampering with those relics will draw things you cannot CONTROL!"
Sal felt a chill coil down his spine.
Gladys continued, her tone venomous:
"You listen to me carefully, Father Sal Tedeschi—until I know WHO did it and HOW far the breach spread, you stay low. You stay quiet. And you FORGET about asking me for help again."
He swallowed hard.
"...."
-Gulp
"Gladys—if the breach was at Demonte's site—"
"IT WASN'T JUST DEMONTE!"
She snapped.
-Snap
"Something older. Something with roots stretching into places even your Blind King won't tread lightly!"
Her breath crackled through the speaker.
"And if you get yourself caught now, don't expect me to save you. You're on your own."
The line went dead.
"...."
Sal stood frozen, the darkness around him suddenly feeling much less holy.
Slowly… he lowered the phone.
Someone had tampered with one of the old bindings.
Someone powerful.
And if Gladys was scared… then it wasn't a minor inconvenience.
Father Sal looked toward the nail which carries the muscle tissues of god according to him,
His voice trembled.
"No… this is too soon… Who would dare interfere with a divine miracle?"
Meanwhile...
Cecellia padded softly through the dim corridor,
Her bare feet brushing cold stone.
The candles lining the walls flickered weakly.
-Flicker -Flicker
As if frightened of the darkness that pressed in from all sides.
She didn't know why she had woken.
Only that she heard someone crying—
A voice worn and trembling,
Whispering desperately for forgiveness.
"...."
Drawn by instinct,
She followed the sound to the old prayer hall,
A place she hadn't been shown yet.
The door was cracked open.
A thin, wavering sob echoed from inside.
Cecellia hesitated… then pushed the door fully open.
-Creak
Inside the Prayer Hall...
The chamber smelled of incense and something metallic underneath—
Like rust… or blood.
On the floor,
Hunched in a posture of agony,
Lay an older nun.
Face pressed to the stone.
Hands clasped in front of her.
"Forgive me… forgive me… forgive me…"
The words scraped out like a broken chant.
Cecellia swallowed, nervous but concerned.
-Gulp
"...."
She slowly stepped toward the woman, kneeling beside her.
"Mother? Are you hurt? Let me help—"
She placed a trembling hand on the nun's shoulder and gently pulled her upright.
The nun's head lifted—
"...."
And Cecellia froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The woman's face was gone.
Not mutilated in violence—
Peeled clean, as if she herself had stripped the flesh away.
Only raw red muscle remained, glistening under candlelight.
Her lips—
Without skin—
Still moved.
"Forgive… me…"
Cecellia stumbled back, horrified,
Hands flying to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Before the sound could escape—
"...."
A hand clamped firmly around her arm and yanked her from the room.
The heavy door slammed shut behind them.
Cecellia looked up, heart pounding,
And saw Mother Superior staring down at her with cold, steady eyes.
"...."
"That room,"
The older woman said calmly,
"is not for the newly anointed."
Cecellia tried to speak—
"Her face—s-she—why—"
Mother Superior hushed her gently and guided her down a separate hallway.
"Come, child. I will show you what she was doing."
They entered a small candle-lit chamber,
Its walls decorated with ancient symbols and scripture written in reverse Latin.
Mother Superior turned to Cecellia,
Her expression unreadable.
"What you saw was not madness,"
She said softly.
"It was devotion."
She lifted her right hand.
A perfectly circular hole pierced straight through her palm.
"We share the pain of God,"
She explained, voice reverent.
"We bear the sins of humanity so the world may be absolved."
Cecellia felt her stomach twist.
"That's… that's impossible. Why would God want this?"
Mother Superior didn't answer.
Instead, she stepped to a small ornate table and lifted a velvet cloth.
Beneath it lay a rusted iron nail, stained dark red.
It radiated a presence—
Old, unnatural, suffocating.
"This,"
She whispered,
"...."
"is one of His nails."
Cecellia's eyes widened.
"You mean… the nail used to crucify—"
"Yes."
Mother Superior's smile was thin and unsettling.
"And through it, we take on the suffering that cleanses the soul."
She moved the nail closer, as though offering it.
"You will learn in time, Sister Cecellia. Pain… is the path to purity."
Cecellia shivered.
For the first time since arriving at the convent—
She felt truly afraid.
Then...
Cecellia sat inside the narrow wooden booth,
Fingers laced tightly in her lap.
The confessional smelled of incense and old timber.
A tiny lattice window separated her from the priest on the other side,
Its pattern forming a cross of dots through which she could only glimpse a silhouette.
She took a slow, shaky breath.
She needed to tell someone.
About the nun with no face.
About Mother Superior's words that still clung to her skin like cold water.
About the sick, twisting feeling in her chest since she stepped into this convent.
"Forgive me, Father,"
She whispered, voice trembling.
"I… I have something to confess."
Through the tiny holes she saw the faint outline of a robed figure shifting—
Cardinal Franco Merola,
Seated where he always heard confessions.
She pressed her palms together, swallowing her fear.
-Gulp
"I saw something yesterday. A nun hurting herself. And Mother Superior said—"
She stopped.
"...."
Because something was wrong.
The silhouette beyond the lattice… wasn't moving.
Not breathing.
Not even sitting correctly—
Tilted, like a puppet hanging on strings.
"Father…?"
No answer.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Then—
CRAAAAACK
The wall behind her exploded inward, splinters flying as if blown apart by a force with no shape.
Cecellia screamed.
Two pale arms—
No, two pairs—
Shot from the darkness behind her,
Hands cold and bony as they clamped around her wrists and ankles.
She was yanked backward off the bench,
Dragged into a suffocating black chamber she hadn't even known existed.
Her back hit cold stone.
Candlelight flickered to life—
Dim, sickly, revealing the faces of nuns surrounding her.
But their faces were wrong.
Eyes hollow.
Skin pallid.
Mouths twisted in silent obedience.
They pinned her down—
One at each limb, another gripping her jaw to keep her from turning away.
"W-What are you doing!? Let me go—PLEASE—!"
A soft shuffle of fabric answered her.
Mother Superior stepped forward, expression serene, almost loving… save for the ritual knife in her hand.
"For purity,"
She whispered.
"For devotion."
She lifted the blade—
Aiming it directly at Cecellia's heart.
"No—NO!"
Cecellia thrashed, tears falling.
"Stop! PLEASE—DON'T—!"
The knife came down.
She felt the cold tip pierce her skin—
And she screamed—
-Ahhhhh
Cecellia jolted upright in bed.
Her lungs burned.
Her hands shook violently.
Her nightgown was damp with sweat,
Her heart hammering against her ribs as if trying to escape.
A dream.
It was a dream.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest…
There was no wound.
Moonlight spilled into the dormitory from the high windows.
The other sisters slept peacefully.
But Cecellia wasn't comforted.
The dream had felt too real—
The hands,
The knife,
Mother Superior's voice,
The weight of bodies holding her down…
And the worst part?
Her chest still ached.
As if something sharp really had touched her heart.
She curled her knees to her chest,
Staring into the dark.
Something was terribly,
Terribly wrong in this convent.
And she was starting to fear she might not leave it alive.
THE NEXT DAY...
The morning sun filtered weakly through the stained-glass panels as Cecellia and the other novices walked quietly behind Mother Superior,
Their steps echoing against the stone corridors.
Sister Gwen, as always, stayed close to Cecellia—
Almost magnetically drawn to her warmth and gentleness.
The other sisters followed in a neat line, hands folded, eyes lowered, their matching habits whispering with every step.
Mother Superior stopped at the center of the classroom.
"Discipline,"
She began, voice calm and cold,
"is devotion. And devotion is service."
The sisters recited automatically, their chants dull and lifeless.
Cecellia repeated the words softly, still haunted by her dream.
She felt Gwen gently nudge her with her elbow, a silent reassurance.
After class, Sister Isabelle took over.
Her presence was strict, intimidating, and visibly irritated whenever Cecellia hesitated or asked questions.
"This convent thrives because every sister fulfills her purpose,"
Isabelle lectured, leading them through the infirmary where elderly nuns lay motionless in their beds—
Some breathing shallowly,
Some staring emptily at the ceiling.
"Care for the elders is service to God. Keep them clean. Feed them. Tend to their wounds."
Cecellia forced a gentle smile while feeding one frail nun.
The woman's hand trembled against hers, grip cold, grip desperate.
"Benedicimi…"
The nun whispered, blessing her with fear in her eyes.
Cecellia swallowed.
-Gulp
"...."
Why did all of them look afraid?
The next stop was the laundry room—
Steamy, humid, filled with the scent of soap and wet fabric.
Sister Isabelle demonstrated how they washed garments on stone slabs,
Wringing out water before hanging them along a long wooden rack.
Gwen groaned under her breath,
-Sigh
"Why does everything here smell like wet stone and old secrets?"
Cecellia tried not to smile.
"It's a convent, Gwen."
"So? Convents can have air fresheners."
Isabelle snapped sharply, "Silence."
Gwen rolled her eyes when Isabelle turned away.
After the laundry, they entered a small courtyard where a butcher table stood. A coop of chickens clucked nervously nearby.
Sister Isabelle picked up a blade and held a struggling hen by its neck.
"In this convent, each sister must show she can sustain herself. Killing is not cruelty—it is duty. You will learn."
She extended the knife toward Cecellia.
"Do it."
Cecellia froze, palm sweating.
"...."
The chicken trembled violently in her hands.
"I—I can't…"
Isabelle's face tightened with visible resentment, lips pressed into a thin line.
"Your hesitation is a weakness,"
She hissed.
But before she could say more, Gwen stepped forward.
"I'll do it,"
She offered quickly, taking the knife before Isabelle could argue.
Isabelle shot Cecellia one final glare and moved on.
Gwen leaned close and whispered,
"Don't worry… I've killed like twenty chickens in my life. Mostly by accident."
Cecellia gave her a faint smile, grateful.
After the classes...
Steam curled upward in the bathhouse, softening the tense atmosphere.
The young novices sat in warm water pools, finally free of duties for a moment.
Cecellia sat beside Gwen, her mind calmer—
Until Gwen began speaking.
"You know,"
Gwen said, splashing water lightly,
"I'm not exactly 'holy material.'"
Cecellia blinked.
"...."
"…Why did you become a sister then?"
Gwen shrugged and sank deeper into the water.
"My boyfriend left me. Took everything. And I had nowhere to go. I saw a parade of nuns passing by… and I thought, hey, food and shelter? Maybe God won't mind."
Another sister gasped.
"Gwen!"
"What?"
Gwen said.
"I'm honest!"
A few of them giggled.
-Giggle
Even Cecellia smiled—
Then suddenly—
"...."
Her smile faded.
The water beneath her rippled unnaturally.
A cold sensation crawled up her spine.
Her vision blurred.
"Cecellia?"
Gwen leaned toward her.
"Hey… are you okay?"
Cecellia blinked rapidly, gripping Gwen's hand.
The world tilted.
Whispers filled her ears.
Foreign.
Inhuman.
As if dozens of unseen voices were chanting beneath the water.
"S—stop… I feel… dizzy…"
Her breathing quickened.
Gwen immediately reached to steady her.
"Cecellia? Look at me—"
But Cecellia's eyes rolled back—
And she collapsed into Gwen's arms, unconscious.
The bathhouse erupted into panic.
"Get Mother Superior!"
"Help her!"
"She fainted!"
Water splashed everywhere as the sisters rushed around her.
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(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Thanks for reading the chapter!
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