Even before I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.

Grandma Leanne—being the fashionably devoted Christian she was—would often describe Heaven as the perfect place. She would speak of blooming gardens with marbled fountains and endless lines of cedar trees that outlined the borders and faded out into thick, wooded sections, giving you the impression of a never ending haven.

Along with the awe-striking architectural descriptions of grand palaces, she would also fantasize for hours about the different hues of blue in the sky, and how they varied into deep oranges and reds. They were supposed to give out a homey sense of forgiveness and completion, one that was said to invade whomever got lucky enough to get there.

I never believed any of it.

Not that I blamed her for doing so, either. She always found the most honest comfort in her Bible and restless faith, and no one ever felt like contradicting her theories. That was not to say that whenever she went on and on about how the purified waters of God  flowed through the open green areas, eddying around the twigs of the fallen tree branches near the river banks of Paradise, I would sometimes dare and ask her how much of it she was actually capable of believing.

Now more than ever.

My environment didn't feel like Heaven. There were no birds chirping or water running down a magic stream but pain enclosing my body instead. Blurred shadows danced around the moment I forced my eyes open, but I was only able to catch the contorted grimace of the broken down Christ staring down at me—almost as if he was lamenting my poorly thought-through decisions all the way up to this moment.

He looked slanted, as well as the rafter next to him. The world had toppled over and there were no more traces of Roy hanging on to the bars, only a louder and clearer downpour falling through the massive hole atop it. I realized the chilling waves that ran through my body were due to the coldness of the floor, and I winced at the uneven surface digging into my lower back.

Suddenly I envied the marvelous thrones of gold Grandma Leanne described. They sounded a lot more comfortable than this.

Noises around me were muffled by a high-pitched buzz, and it was hard to focus around the ache coming from the right side of my head. Luckily, the shrill ebbed away slowly, allowing me to catch the beating of constant, heavy drops against the metal bars and marbled floors, as well as the faint echo of voices coming from all directions.

More people were inside the church.

Focusing all my intent on making out the words closest to me, I held my breath and listened. There were multiple, distinct voices, most of them hollow and barely audible. For a moment, I thought they were murmuring inside my mind instead, but the sounds became a clear, low chant.

I tried to readjust my body in order to get a proper look at the source, but quickly realized how futile the intent on itself was when I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. Sharp pain lanced through my head and colorful spots flashed in front of my eyes.

It felt like my whole body had been wired with charged cables. Every movement caused some muscle or bone to ache, but it was the blazing flare that fired up my left shoulder the one that sent my brain reeling with a dizzying spell.

"That was quite the stunt you pulled there," a hoarse voice said, this one much closer than the others. Dark silhouettes danced into my vision, blocking the flashes of light coming from the sky. One of them moved sideways, giving way to the other. "Why don't you help the lady? It's quite depressing to see her like this."

Following instructions, cold, delicate hands wrapped around my shoulder. I had the intention to jerk away from them, but another jolt of excruciating pain shot through my arm. This time, though, a wave of relief countered the shocks, making every burning cell dissipate like fog off some terrible lake. Slowly but surely, the pins-and-needles sensation melted away from my muscles, and only a dull ache was left behind.

The church became clearer in my eyes. I could see the statues clinging onto the ceiling, the broken down chandeliers, the graffitied, chipped walls, and Roy's mocking smirk staring down at me. The other silhouette standing next to him had acquired a shape as well.

Zoe.

She gazed at me through bloodshot eyes, and I caught a silver glint coating her hands. Pixie dust? She opened her mouth, but Roy's hand emitted a bright blue light before any words managed to get out. A translucent rift opened behind them, and, as if it were following his unspoken commands, swallowed Zoe in a beat.

I stiffened.

"One burden less, another one to go." Roy stepped forward then and jerked on my wrists, pulling me up into a sitting position against the antependium. I caught a shadow moving behind him in darkened nave, but Roy moved another hand upwards in a warning sign. "Don't even think about it, Black," he said. "One wrong move and this will be her last breath."

Hunter.

I tried to hurtle away from Roy, look over his shoulder in hopes to find Hunter, but the efforts were useless. He only tightened his grip and clasped his hand around mine again. Even as I fought through the ocean of thoughts swarming my mind to find the small opening that allowed me to hear Hunter's voice each time, nothing came. Everything was silent.

It was as if a wall had been lifted between us, which physically projected itself in the shape of a smirking Roy.

"You know, your talent at giving me headaches never ceases to impress me," he muttered. "I don't understand what you tried to achieve jumping off that rafter, but if you wanted to die...give me a moment and I'll gladly help you with that myself."

With an effortless push, he lifted himself off the ground and moved away from my line of vision. The stagnant air around us was sodden with the smells of wet soil and incense-infused dust. It was harder to breathe, and my head still throbbed with an undetected pain. It came from its right side.

I pressed my hand against the tender spot, noticing my fingers grazed something hot and wet. Looking down, I found the silvery dust from Zoe's hands was now clinging onto my shoulder under the ragged cloth from my blouse like glitter. That same silver glint appeared to shine brighter in contrast of the dark, red stream dripping from my fingertips and all over the side of the altar. 

It will be the light of a new day... For her destiny is written in blood at the altar of God.

I leaned back into the antependium, taking a steadying breath. My body wasn't functioning properly, and no matter how hard I tried to move, it was as if the connection between my limbs and brain had been cut off. I was only able to train my eyes through the nave, taking in the new guests.

Around the red light that surged from the pentagram stood four tall figures, the same figures that had blocked the doors before. Members of the Infernal Council?

I tried to look for Alastair's face without any fruitful returns. All of them were hiding under thick cloaks, chanting distorted phrases I couldn't make out. Roy made his way toward the last point of the star, and I realized someone else had walked over to his side.

My heart gave an uneasy twist inside my chest. 

"But only one will come to acquire the task of freeing the long Forgotten realm," Roy recited in an almost too poetical manner. "He must learn to wield his powers, not be consumed by them, for when the day comes, he will commence the Purging Ritual." He averted his gaze at Hunter, who kept his eyes pinned on mine. I tried to decipher whatever message he was trying to hand me, but only silence greeted the empty space in my mind. "I guess the prophecy was right to a certain extent. It's all about interpretation."

It's time, a disembodied voice pronounced.

It came from one of the cloaked figures, and it echoed through my head—low and rough, demanding and insistent. Roy and Hunter's gazes darted in the direction of the four figures, who stood on each point of the pentagram, and Roy gave them a sober nod. Apparently, everyone was able to hear them.

"Why don't you do the honors, Saturn's true son?" Roy mocked, sidestepping Hunter so that he could join the others in the circle.

For a frozen second, before he moved, Hunter's eyes locked with mine again. The cuts on his face had begun to swell up and bruise, his arms and clothes were covered in dust and dirt, and shards of glass stuck to his skin. Part of me hoped for him to do something, take every single person down with a simple wave of his hand, but none of that happened.

"What are you doing?" I whispered.

His eyes had become tired, their blue tone darker than I'd ever seen, and I felt my heart shattering as he shook his head lightly in response.

"Wait—" the words were caught midair. I couldn't push them any further without my throat protesting against the pain that came with the mere effort of speaking.

Hunter took a couple of steps closer to the pentagram. He moved easily, but I could sense his tightly reined caution. Roy followed close behind him. He took the other members' hands and sealed the circle, locking Hunter in the middle. The muffled chanting began again, but a different atmosphere overtook the church. It was heavier, darker, and the sounds from outside seemed to fade into background noise.

The tallest figure stepped forward, drawing something familiar from the side of their cloak. Ashy grey hands shone along with the glinting Reaver Blade. I recognized it immediately as the hairs in my nape rose: it was the blade I had used on the shifters back at the train station. It did nothing to his skin—no burning or torturing. Instead, the bolts of energy were still bright and beaming through it, and the light became a deep blue as the figure let it rest on Hunter's outstretched arm.

Fire burns blue with the need of redemption, the figure said. This time, it rose its head higher, and I was able to catch his hollowed eyes and the distinct scar running across his face.

Without hesitation, he let the blade sink into Hunter's arm in a swift motion. A silent moment hovered over the church. Hunter kept a stoic expression, almost as if he didn't want to flinch or show any signs of discomfort, but as the man continued carving lines into his skin and blood dripped faster from the cuts, his breathing shifted.

The man raised one of his hands and touched the fabric of Hunter's shirt, which soon started to disappear like a handful of ash thrown into the wind. I blinked twice to make sure I wasn't hallucinating from the blood loss, but as I opened my eyes again, I realized his upper body was completely uncovered. The tip of the blade danced around his chest, coming to a final stop right over the arrow tattoo crossing his heart.

A bolt of adrenaline surged through me, and I shot forward before my brain processed my actions. Despite the momentum, I couldn't get far before the same invisible arms from before pushed me back against the altar. Roy's eyes were pinned on mine, a vicious smile curving the sides of his mouth.

The man in the cloak let the blade sink lightly into Hunter's skin without further warning, pushing downwards and upwards in a triangular motion. This time, a low growl forced itself out of Hunter's throat.

The light of the new day is upon us, the man's words echoed as he put the blade back into the side of his cloak. He let his hand hover over the open wound on Hunter's chest, pressing his fingers against it with a determined push. Beams of light surged upward, lighting the blue and golden arches on the ceiling, and the scream that bounced off the walls made the hairs of my nape rise.

The ground rocked beneath us, which served as a cue for the man to draw his hand away from Hunter's chest and push him outside the pentagram before joining hands with the others. The murmured chants filled the air once more, becoming a monotonous, somber melody that strung itself with the thunder and rain to create the darkest song I'd ever heard.

As they closed their eyes and the beams of light morphed into giant, smokeless, blue flames that wavered over the pentagram, I felt the restraints loosen around me. Scanning the darkened nave, I spotted Hunter's body next to one of the columns. Dark trails of smoke lingered around his body. Like they were enclosing it in a prison made of fog. He wasn't moving, and I caught his muscles contracting as small, black veins began to show in his arms.

The image of Lorraine toppling over to the ground seconds before her death with the same dark lines stretching over her face exploded through my mind. It wasn't necessary for me to command my legs to move—they did it on their own. Even as the ground tilted under my feet and the church swayed in my vision from the painstaking effort, I pushed forward.

The cloaked figures and Roy were lost in their ritual, the flames growing bigger by the second and causing the walls to vibrate with a silent hum.

Before I could get halfway down the transept, though, a chilling voice imposed a halt on me. Much like the one from the cloaked man, it held a dark, gravelly undertone, but this one I knew was only audible inside my head. It had been that way before, and as always, it came with a hair-rising feeling as it snaked into my mind.

Take the Reaver Blade you dropped before.

I gave a full turn, trying to find any signs of movement or strange shadows anywhere near me. All I needed was something to let me know it was there. Something that would prove to me I wasn't just imagining its voice. I scoured every corner, every crevice that could've hid something behind the thick darkness, but there was nothing. Its presence was solely nestled inside my mind, holding on with restless resistance against my intents to shut it out.

Don't waste your time fighting me, it said, its voice edging a surly tone. Get the blade. If you want to save the Inferno and break the pentagram, it is the only thing that will help you.

Before I could digest the creature's voice, its presence faded. The only thing it left behind was the deep sense of foreboding in the pit of my stomach. What if it had been a trick all along? I'd first seen this thing inside the Void Dimension, somewhere far off into Roy's realm of control, which meant I couldn't put my trust on it.

However, to this point, it had only come forth to warn me about someone trying to harm Hunter. A warning which ended up becoming true, as well as its matching insistence with someone's return, someone whose presence Lorraine was aware about. The man in the office I'd seen—perhaps? Then, it suggested me taking the smaller Reaver Blade with me, one that could've gone easily undetectable in case I needed it.

That Reaver Blade now lay ten feet to my left, right next to the apse.

It hadn't been stalking me—it was helping me.

Without thinking twice, I bolted toward it, letting my fingers curl around its halt. The light weight of the blade was enough to send a reassuring wave of energy through my body—like it was recharging me. The pain from my shoulder, cuts, and bruises faded the moment I reached him, and I soon realized the swirling smoke had enclosed itself around his body completely, leaving only his head outside.

Despite any forceful intents, my hands wouldn't go through the mist.

Any brilliant ideas now? I asked into my mind, partly hoping the creature would make another intervention. Silence greeted me instead.

Wood cracked somewhere near the right aisle. My heart dropped as I turned my head in the direction of the noise, but nothing appeared to be next to the doors. The benches and the broken down pieces of cement were still intact, and the cloaked figures and Roy hadn't flinched or move. They still held their heads down, eyes closed.

Shaking my head out of the haze, I looked back at Hunter. The black veins had begun to stretch upwards, but as I tried to reach into the smoke one more time, the Reaver Blade vibrated in my hand. Staring at its small hilt, I noticed the same coppered patterns I'd seen before were winding up my hand. They were a multidimensional network of fine lines that went from my palms all the way to my fingertips, and they seemed to glow as I neared them to the blackened smoke.

If you want to save the Inferno and break the pentagram, it is the only thing that will help you. The creature's words reverberated in the walls of my head as a reminder. But how?

Following nothing other than mere instinct, I drove the tip into the smoke. Unlike before, the tendrils gave way and began to break slightly apart against. Like oil in water, each spot where I dragged the blade, the smoke drifted away, and I tried to reach my hand into the small rift I'd created. This time I managed to get it through, feeling his skin underneath my fingertips.

I let the blade slide from my other hand so that I could reach in with that one as well. There were still small bolts of energy running inside, causing goosebumps to claw into my skin, but something about the black mass didn't feel like smoke. Despite its looks, it was almost as if I was digging my hands into goop.

Trying not to gag, I held my breath and gripped the sides.

The rift began to stretch progressively, and before I could think twice, I gave it one final pull. The air was suddenly rent by the sound of breaking glass as the rest of the smoke gave away. Its icy tendrils drifted off from Hunter's body, scattering around us. I watched every single one of them sink into the ground as if a magnet had summoned them back to the core of the Earth.

Hunter let out a gruff sound, and I trained my eyes back to him. The veins were starting to fade, but the slashes from the Reaver Blade still shone a bright blue color. It was as if—

The ground, Hunter and the rest of the church reeled in my vision. For a moment, everything around me had disappeared into air, but a split second later the hard surface of a column greeted my back. Pain exploded through my chest and a hand yanked me back up before I could fill my lungs back in.

"You're really starting to annoy me, Olivia," Roy said, tightening his fingers around my neck. "Which is why I'm going to give you the offer only one more time before I lose my patience: collaborate with the plan and no one gets hurt. Choose against it and I'll finish sinking that blade into this shithead's chest before sending Tara to your house so that she can burn your father and sister from the inside out. Then I'll continue with your munchkin of a best friend."

With each word he said, his fingers continued to squeeze into my neck, stopping my breath short. The pentagram behind him, along with the four cloaked figures, appeared to be floating in my eyes, the flames growing as high as the dome. I tried to keep my feet secured on the ground and reached my hands to his wrists, but his other arm pushed me further into the column.

"So—what's it going to be?"

"I'm not going to play..." I managed. "Your degenerate games."

A frozen second stretched between us, and the shade of his eyes darkened into a swirling hurricane of blue. He drew me closer in order to press my back against the column one more time. The blow was enough to knock the remaining air out of my lungs, but the church around us melted on cue. The walls and the statues turned into swirling masses of colors, which ended up fading into a vast grey mist that stretched into different tunnels.

At the end of those tunnels were small openings, which led to different places. It was like looking into mirages—Millennium Park was there, restaurants, parts of St. Boniface Church from other angles, houses with people I'd never met before—all of which changed and varied every few seconds.

Roy inched forward, pressing his lips to my ear. "All of this could've been ours."

He snapped his fingers once, causing one of the openings to stretch enough to suck both of us in. The grey void faded. Buildings materialized on its place, and I felt my sneakers sinking into wet grass. From where we stood, I could see the different lights that outlined the pathways of Millennium Park, including the Cloud Gate sculpture. Drops of rain now fell directly above us, and before I could try to move away from Roy's grip, his fingers snapped one more time.

Millennium Park, the buildings, and the rain dissipated into the grey space, which opened into another one of the tunnels. This one was painfully familiar, and I felt my lungs twist with the need of air the moment the lollipop wallpaper pressed into my back. Mr. Flamefluffs was staring back at me from the changing table, next to the five mandatory diaper boxes Mom made Dad buy for Emilia whenever she had to leave the house.

"I could have taught you how to contain these endless possibilities and have them at your disposal," Roy said. "You could go anywhere you wanted with a snap of your fingers..."

Another snap and Mr. Flamefluffs was gone from my sight. The smell of mildew and incense crawled into my nostrils again, and the concrete column greeted my back. Roy drew slightly away, loosening the grip slightly around my neck. My vision blurred around the edges, but I forced as much oxygen as I could into my system.

"I guess you're not as powerful as the prophecy describes." He let his free hand hover between us. "You're only a dense, naïve human like everyone else."

The flash memory of my dream tumbled into my mind as Roy pressed his fingers into my chest. Pain seared and radiated through my upper body better than a branding iron, my head conceding to the torment, unable to bring a thought to completion. Everything felt smoldered, and the burning waves increased in waves. Like Roy had managed to somehow turn my blood into acid.

For a moment, I thought his fingers would graze my heart and yank it out of its cavity, but the blaring pain and his tight grip were thrown away from me before I could process what was happening. The floor greeted me one more time. I gulped as much air as I could, feeling my head whirling in a painful stupor.

I sought for the source of my sudden relief, but the image my eyes sent my brain made the world around me stop turning. Roy's body was crumpled against the nearest benches, and I caught a familiar silhouette pushing the hilt of his boot into Roy's back. When he turned around, I was able to see the bright glint of a Reaver Blade secured tightly on his hand, his eyes the brightest tone of copper I had ever seen.

"Dad?"