I have several thoughts about where they all ended up so I’m just gonna dump them all here:
Jay and Gloria: Love them, they grew closer and more in love. Jay went from being a homophobic and xenophobic AH to an amazing involved husband, father, and grandfather. Gloria didn’t have too much development but the support Jay gave her in realizing aging is okay was adorable to see, and I always loved her. Other than being an overbearing mom but she definitely starting to let go.
Manny: He was cute in the beginning but became an insufferable snob. Though i do applaud his relationship development with Jay he needs some more growing up to do but we haven’t seen that (yet🤞).
Joe: He was funny but there wasn’t much substance to his character as he was so young.
Cam: I do not like him. Throughout the show he was always “woe is me” and acted as if he knew what was best for everyone else. In the end he got everything he wanted at the sacrifice almost everything Mitch had wanted. He was not a good husband or father to Lily once she got older.
Mitchel: I like him well enough, he is a supportive husband. However he gave up wayyyy too much for Cam. In a stark contrast, he was also not very involved with Lily, why on earth they decided on adopting another baby is beyond me.
Lily: Her childhood moments were hilarious, and the moody snarky teen she became is not uncommon, particularly in her situation. Her dads did not pay her much attention as they were constantly super involved in their own lives once she grew up. Wish I got to see more of her.
Baby boy: I forgot his name, his whole character felt like an add on.
Claire: I did like seeing her develop from a sorta depressed stay at home mom, to a driven and capable career woman. I don’t think the career itself was too important, but joining the business did help her bond with Jay. What she needed was to feel confident and capable again, and that’s what she got. Her reaction to Haley and Dylan ending up together and whatnot was hypocritical as she was in Haley’s shoes once. I do understand looking at a bad reflection of yourself is uncomfortable but she could have been less judgmental. She was not a good parent to Alex, never tried to understand her and didn’t really look out for her as “oh she has good grades so she’s fine”. They didn’t show too much of her relationship with Luke but I do wish she’d have stopped being so hung up on college for him. Her relationship with Phil definitely grew over the years and it was good to see.
Phil: I hated him in the beginning. His constant ogling of Gloria was insanely uncomfortable, and it went on for far too long. It took another guy pointing out how amazing Claire is for him to get she’s great, though it still happened occasionally. The ‘wow I see what they mean by pregnant women glow’ when Claire had given him 3 kids was revolting. I am glad their relationship got better and he became a better husband. He was always a good father, very present for his kids, and I do like that he looked out for Alex, even when she didn’t think she needed it.
Haley: I get she was supposed to mirror her mother by going from irresponsible and ‘crazy’ to a sensible mom, but I wish her path had gone differently. Her relationship with Andy let her grow more into adulthood but she should not have ended up with him, that relationship was built on cheating, a terrible foundation, it wouldn’t have gone the distance. Dylan is a nice guy but he is almost like a step back from the progress she made, not because he’s a bad guy, but he stayed as basically the same character with little development. I will give him credit for being a supportive and involved dad to the twins. The future I feel Haley would’ve thrived in was as a single traveling photographer. She enjoyed fun and freedom, after being in so many tumultuous relationships I could see her thriving otherwise.
Alex: She grew up as a stereotypical middle child, always overlooked by her family. However her intelligence gave her an ego that both protected her and harmed her. Thinking herself better than her family allowed her to be okay in her situation, but that extended to everyone so it didn’t let her make friends easily. It definitely helped when she went to college and had to realize the people there are just as smart or smarter than her, but it didn’t help her much afterwards. I have to say I wish she ended up with the firefighter. He was so kind and supportive, not as intelligent as her sure but I think she needed that in her life, to show her ‘dumb’ people are human and productive too. Her possibly ending up with Arvin was something I hated. He is some who overlooked her and dated her sister. Not only did he date Haley, they broke up because he was embarrassed of Haley for being ‘dumb’. The only thing that relationship could do for Alex is further divide her from her family and common people.
Luke: He grew up as such a happy energetic kid. His lack of interest in academia was visible to everyone. I don’t know why everyone was shocked he wasn’t getting into colleges. Alternative routes would have been a better option to present to him, and I loved his medical system idea and wish he’d gone that way. His going off to college instead did not make sense to me and I can see him dropping out to pursue something else instead.

Content Warning: This story contains themes of mental health issues, suicide and physical violence.
Prosopagnosia v. Cotard's Syndrome
My new doctor - a bright and friendly guy named Sarbjit - took the time to explain his diagnosis to me. He told me my condition was mental, not physical, but it was hard to pay attention to everything he said because my left arm was numb and rotting from the inside out. I smiled and nodded and then when I got home I looked up Cotard’s Syndrome online. Here is what Wikipedia had to say on it.
“Cotard's syndrome, also known as ‘Cotard's delusion’ or ‘Walking Corpse Syndrome’, is a rare mental disorder in which the affected person holds the delusional belief that they are dead, do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs.”
I don’t know. Sounded extremely strange to me. I just knew my left arm was dying. Maybe my liver too. I used my right arm, the good one, to open my mail. Most of it was just the normal stuff but when I saw the letter from the Supreme Court of the State of New York I got a little worried. I was here legally - a citizen for almost ten years now - and I knew my rights but being summoned to testify at this criminal trial was a bit unnerving. I didn’t like it. I just try to do my best in this life and mind my own business and not cause problems for others.
When my trial appearance date arrived two months later I took the subway downtown and left my assistant, Stavvy, in charge of the office that day. I sat there on a hard wooden bench in the courtroom all morning listening to the testimony of other witnesses but I wasn’t called to the stand until sometime after we returned from lunch. Eventually, the lawyer for the defense called my name.
She mispronounced it of course - people here always mispronounce Albanian names - so I wasn’t surprised when she called me Mister Shka-Rell-Eee. My surname is Shkreli, after the place where my family comes from, and the proper pronunciation contains only two syllables - Shkrell-Eee. I was trying to hold my left arm in place when she asked her opening question.
Where was I at the time of the murder?
“Well, Miss Anderson” - I pronounced it Ahnd-REE-Sawn, drawing out the first and last syllables while placing too much emphasis on the middle one, intentionally - “I am not entirely certain. That was over a year ago and I travel all around this city on a daily basis for my job. I work in computer repair and IT support and I have customers in all five boroughs.” (This wasn’t exactly true. I wasn’t really willing to travel to Staten Island.) We had spoken four months earlier when she informed me of the questions she intended to ask at trial but I was fairly oblique then and I intended to remain so now. I had bigger problems. Could these people not see that my left arm was rotting away?
She looked at me with a furrowed brow and briskly walked back to the defense table, picked up a leather-bound notepad and opened it.
“Mister Shkreli, when you and I spoke on June 18th you confirmed that you were just leaving a client’s office, TRG Commercial Realty, located at 223 Broome Street here in lower Manhattan at approximately 3:30pm that day, shortly before the incident at issue took place less than one block away. Is that not correct?”
I turned up my native eastern European accent a bit and repositioned my left arm in my lap. I could barely feel it at that point. What was wrong with these people?
“If you say so. Like I said, that was over a year ago and it was just another workday for me.”
She stared at me for a beat or two longer than necessary and then flashed a quick look towards the jurors before continuing.
“Well yes, Mister Shkreli” - again it was Shka-Rell-Eee - “You did tell me that and I do have a recording of our conversation, which you consented to before we began, if the court would like this to be entered into evidence?”
She looked at the judge and the judge looked at me.
“Mister Shkreli,” - he too pronounced it Shka-Rell-Eee - ‘Are you refuting the testimony that Miss Anderson is referencing during your preliminary deposition or can we just move on at this point? If counsel for the defense claims to have this recording I am fairly certain this is true. Will it be necessary to enter this recording into evidence at this time or are you willing to acknowledge Miss Anderson’s claim?”
I repositioned my left arm in my lap and nodded.
“That’s fine, Your Honor. As I said, it was just another workday for me but if Miss Anderson says that is what we discussed I am sure she is probably right.”
The judge nodded back at me. “Very good. Let’s proceed then.”
Miss Anderson walked back to the defense table and dropped the leather-bound notepad before continuing with her final question for me, looking annoyed.
“Picking up where we left off, Mister Shkreli, can you please describe for the court what happened immediately after you left the offices of TRG Commercial Realty at 223 Broome Street on the date in question, October 22nd of last year?”
I didn’t like the way that she was trying to fence me in but I wasn't particularly concerned. I had bigger problems.
“Well, like I said, I don’t really remember that day. There was nothing memorable about it. It was just another day.”
She stared at me for a few seconds then flashed a quick look at the jury box with her eyebrows raised before returning her attention to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
I was dismissed from the stand but asked to remain in the courtroom as she called her next witness; a small, frail woman from Queens about my same age named Maureen Stewart. She had an odd, twitchy nature about her. I wanted to get home. I wanted to relax.
“Miss Stewart, can you please tell the court where you were on October 22nd of last year at approximately 3:30 in the afternoon?”
The witness looked down for a moment and then glanced towards the judge before removing the slightly confused look from her face and responding in a semi-automated tone.
“Yes, Miss Anderson. At that time, I was just leaving my day shift at the FedEx Office Store (she pronounced it ‘Staw’ in her thick New York accent) on Broome Street and I was walking towards the station for the Six Train to begin my ride back home.”
The attorney for the defense took a momentary pause and then asked her next question.
“And can you please tell us what happened then?”
The witness looked down again and then looked back at the judge, then the jury and, finally, at me. I didn’t like the way she looked at me.
“Yes, as I was leaving my workplace I crossed the street and I remember walking past the entrance to a narrow alleyway where I heard a commotion taking place. It made me stop and look for a second or two but I didn’t want to get involved so I just kept on walking towards the subway and I didn’t think too much about the whole thing until the Homicide detectives contacted me a few days later after they pulled the security camera videos. I came down to the police station the day after that and gave my statement. That was just over a year ago.”
Miss Anderson took a moment to stare at me. I didn’t like that either. I adjusted my left arm in my lap. It was completely numb.
“Thank you, Miss Stewart. Can you please be a bit more specific about what you saw occurring in that alleyway?”
Again, the witness looked down at the floor and then her eyes shot all around the courtroom before she responded.
“Well,” she said, before taking a brief pause. “At first I thought it was just a little scuffle but when I saw the shorter man in the black jacket punch the tall man in the belly a few times I saw some blood starting to spread on the side of his white button-down shirt and I saw what looked like a small knife or something in the shorter man’s hand. The tall thin man looked like he was starting to fall. I remember looking around for a police officer but I certainly wasn’t gonna do anything about it by myself. I mean, what could I do? When I didn’t see no one who could help I just kept on walking towards the subway. I guess I should have done more but I was scared and I just wanted to get back to Forest Hills to pick up my daughter from daycare before five o’clock.”
I glanced at the defendant seated at the table on the left. He looked both hopeful and nervous at the same time, but in a subtle way, like he didn’t want to appear to be either. He kept his head down and never once glanced towards the jury box. Miss Anderson asked her final question.
“Thank you, Miss Stewart. And do you see the man in the black jacket who stabbed the victim, Mister Baronston, on that day last October here in the courtroom now?”
Again the witness looked down at the floor between her feet for a moment and then looked back up, right at me. I felt my blood stop flowing through my veins, or at least through my left arm and the top of my right leg, when she raised up her hand and pointed her index finger at me.
“It was that man, there,” she said.
Miss Anderson nodded and paused for a moment, satisfied, letting it sink in for the jury members. I was stunned. The stylish defense attorney in the toney, expensive clothing began walking back in my direction and she too pointed an accusatory finger.
“If it pleases the court, let the record show that Miss Stewart has identified Mister Jack Shkreli as the attacker who she witnessed in the-”
Just then the witness on the stand, Miss Stewart, pointed her finger at the judge without really looking at him and suddenly blurted out, “Or him. It might have been him too. I’m not 100% sure...”
Miss Anderson paused, clearly nonplussed, and just stared at her witness. The judge also looked baffled for a second or two and then leaned over and whispered something to his court assistant and the two of them shared a quiet smirk.
Then the witness pointed at one of the jurors, a man in the front row about my size.
“Or him. It could have been him. I’m just not sure...” Then she went silent, as did the rest of the courtroom for a few moments. The State’s Attorney, a heavy-set bald man, broke the silence pretty quickly as he rose to his feet.
“Your Honor, the State would like to move to dismiss this witness along with all previous testimony.” He paused briefly and took a deep breath, choosing his next words.
“While we appreciate Miss Stewart’s willingness to appear at trial today, I think it’s clear that her recollection of events is…uncertain at best.” He glared at the defense table for a moment, then added “I’d just like to remind the court that Mister Shkreli” - and God bless him, he pronounced my two-syllable surname correctly - “is not on trial here and if this witness cannot distinguish the man she saw that day from yourself or a random member of our jury panel I don’t think we can accept this testimony or any further testimony from this witness.”
He hung his head respectfully, with the tiniest little smile on his face. He already knew he had won this argument and the judge quickly agreed, telling the jury to disregard what they just heard. Miss Stewart was dismissed from the stand and the defense had no other witnesses left to call. Less than two hours later the jury returned a guilty verdict against the defendant on all counts and the courtroom was cleared. The sentencing hearing would take place at a later date and I was not required to be there. My right leg was starting to feel numb by then but I still managed to get back to the office in time for Stavvy to head home at the end of his shift to make dinner for his kids. His wife was killed in a car accident two years earlier. He was a hard worker and I really liked him.
That night, back at my apartment, I did some research online and learned about a rare mental disorder known as Prosopagnosia. Here is what Wikipedia had to say.
Prosopagnosia, also known as face blindness, is a cognitive disorder of face perception in which the ability to recognize familiar faces, including one's own face (self-recognition), is impaired, while other aspects of visual processing (e.g. object discrimination) and intellectual functioning remain intact.
It all sounded pretty strange to me but if the doctors say it’s real who am I to argue? Apparently it is well documented in the DSM-5. I don’t know if this is the reason why I was able to walk away from the courtroom without consequence at first but I think it is the most likely explanation. I only know that when I left my client’s offices at TRG Commercial Realty on that day just over a year ago and hailed a cab I was stunned and confused when Mister Baronston, a complete stranger with a hostile face, suddenly attacked me, claiming that it was his cab and not mine.
He was bigger than me, tall and thin but strong, and I would have just given up the cab and caught the next one but he was clearly already very angry about something. When he backed me towards the alley, shoving me and then punching me around my head and neck, my backpack tumbled open and I saw my wallet and phone and some other items come crashing out onto the pavement. It was just a stupid and unnecessary altercation, the kind of thing that probably happens on the streets of this city every day, sadly. Too many people, not enough space. I did my best to fight back and protect myself but he was a good deal bigger than me.
Then I was getting punched some more and thrown against the alley wall as people passed by, disinterested, and I just instinctively reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pen knife that has been attached to my keychain for years. Before I really knew what was happening it was open and then my right hand was growing warm and red and slick with his blood. Then I was moving again, not looking back.
What an odd thing. I remember seeing Miss Stewart stopping there on the sidewalk to look from the mouth of the alley that day. Of all the passers-by, she was the only one who paused to look at us, at me, right as I desperately punctured Mister Baronston’s rib cage for the fifth or sixth time with my little penknife and he began to drop, but she averted her gaze after a few seconds and moved on and then I was rapidly heading in the opposite direction. This is a huge city and I never expected to see her face again. Fortunately, she was apparently never really able to see mine.
Anyway, I have more important problems to worry about at this time. Stavvy received a letter from the Manhattan DA’s office yesterday ordering him to appear at a grand jury hearing next month related to my involvement in Mister Baronston’s death. He showed it to me. More importantly, my left arm is just about gone now, my right leg is quickly starting to feel the same way and in just the last day or two I have begun feeling that strange tingling sensation in the tips of the fingers on my right hand. I know my liver is failing. It won’t be long now.
I scheduled a meeting with my lawyer in the morning to legally put the business and the rest of my assets in Stavvy’s name in my will. I have no family here anyway and almost no relatives who I remain close with back in Albania or Montenegro anymore. Stavvy is a good man and he has kids to feed and I have already lived a full life.
So yes, I will just leave it all to him and after that’s done I think I will get the old Ford minivan that we sometimes still use for the business and drive it out to the George Washington Bridge while I am still able. I know that when I stop it and get out and leave it there on the center-span I will screw up traffic badly and inconvenience a lot of people but I can’t worry about that. I have to do what I have to do. There’s no point in waiting for this to get worse. I can barely feel the fingers on my right hand and I don’t have much time left.
Maybe I should have told the truth at the trial. I don’t know. I think I was just too distracted by all of my health problems. I didn’t really have any choice at the time. I don’t have any choice now. I’m actually surprised that I lasted this long. I was certain that I would already be gone a few months ago but I feel I have done my best with this life.
As my people back in Albania say, Mos pyet si vdiq, por si rrojti!
“Do not ask how he died, but how he lived!”
THE END

At an event I (F 53) was approached by a man (50). Not particularly attractive but nothing wrong with that. Tall, a full head of hair, good teeth, just a tiny bit overweight.
We hung out together for the rest of the event and exchanged phone numbers. Personally, I would like to get to know him a little better, but I also have my doubts about a number of things and would like to know whether you see these as hard red flags why I should cut off contact.
1 He has never been in a relationship. 50 years old and never in a relationship, isn't there something wrong with such a man? He spoke to me, which many men do not dare, and it was immediately clear why he did so; he said he thought I was an attractive woman. Surely men who dare to do that have had a relationship at that age? Or would he have mustered up the courage he otherwise wouldn't have? He seemed nervous, but when I asked about it he said he wasn't nervous. He also said that he hasn't had many dates and briefly mentioned that when chatting with women on dating sites, he quickly went too far, which turned women off.
2 He gave me a lot of compliments which made me uncomfortable because it was just too much.
3 He was quite physical straight away. Within a few minutes he moved so that he was standing side by side against me. Even when we went for a drink he sat down so that he was actually sitting against me. When I left he wanted to take me to my car (yes, I actually saw why and made a defensive joke about it) and tried to walk hand in hand with me, which I refused. I told him that I thought that went way too fast. I gave him a quick chaste kiss on the mouth and then got three kisses on my cheeks (normal in my country) after which he tried to kiss me on the mouth again which I rebuffed. Luckily he left his hands at home.
So I have doubts. Should I give it a chance but make sure I'm not alone with him (I think he'll jump on me) or just not do it? Somehow I think this could just be clumsy behavior on his part and that he might actually be a really good guy. But the fact that he has never had a relationship at his age seems like a red flag to me.

one day, you realize you're trans. you become certain. maybe you're 12 or 25 but either way, being a truehon, you probably didn't start hrt til you were 21+. but still, you've found a way to get on hormones. this is great. you're finally becoming the person you were always meant to be. but there's a problem. you've become hyper-aware of every masculine trait you possess. you try to stomach it. maybe hrt will fix you. you have few trans friends with which to share your troubles so you turn to the internet. you stumble upon 4tran4. you read the posts and understand the pain and frustration. you learn the terms. you learn to hate yourself. you learn you started hrt too late for it to actually change anything significant. you learn nothing will amend your masculine bone structure. you learn you are a hon. you have never malefailed. your neck is too thick, your shoulders too wide, hands and feet too giant, face too irreversibly masculine. you become disgusted by yourself. how could you ever consider yourself a girl? a woman? to do so is incredibly insulting to all women. you sink deeper and deeper, crying constantly in private and staying numb and listless in public. you still save photos of beautiful, inspirational trans and cis women on your pinterest boards. but you know you will never look 1/10th as beautiful and feminine as them. you scroll through posts on 4tran, memes of irl and drawn hons, and you know that this is how you look, this is how the world sees you. you are so ashamed. you wish you could just be a normal girl. you will spend your one life wishing. you watch with envy as luckshits and those younger than you become beautiful passoids. your heart breaks. you will always be an ugly hon. you won't rep because you can't stand the thought of ever having testosterone in your body again. but you can only manmode in public. being yourself is too dangerous. you reserve your true identity for the sparse explicitly queer and accepting spaces. you are the ugliest person in these spaces. any time you see yourself in a picture, you lose so much hope, and you are bereft. you are drifting. you are hurting yourself. you will never stop grieving.

CNN — Donald Dorff could hear the crowd roaring as he snatched the quarterback’s pitch from the air and sprinted toward the goal line. “There was a 280-pound tackle waiting for me, so I decided to give him my shoulder,” the 67-year-old told National Geographic magazine in 1987.
“When I came to, I was on the floor in my bedroom,” Dorff said. “I had smashed into the dresser and knocked everything off it and broke the mirror and just made one heck of a mess. It was 1:30 a.m.”
How did a dream from a retired grocery manufacturer from Golden Valley, Minnesota, become worthy of a profile in a well-known national magazine?
Five years earlier, Dorff had become the first patient diagnosed with an unusual disease called rapid eye movement sleep behavior disorder, or RBD.
There’s more. Dorff’s case also launched researchers on a journey that uncovered one of the earliest signs of two devastating diseases: Parkinson’s and a unique form of dementia called Lewy body.
The discovery of RBD was made in 1982 when Dorff, after years of experiencing “violent moving nightmares,” became a patient of psychiatrist and sleep specialist Dr. Carlos Schenck, then working at the Minnesota Regional Sleep Disorders Center in Minneapolis.
“During rapid eye movement or REM sleep, the brain basically paralyzes the body so that we cannot act out our dreams,” Schenck, now a professor and senior staff psychiatrist at the Hennepin County Medical Center at the University of Minnesota, told CNN recently. “But Dorff was able to get up and hurt himself while dreaming, a very odd behavior. We were scratching our heads about it,” he said. “Then we put him in a sleep lab, and lo and behold, all his physical behaviors came out of REM sleep, which had never been reported before.”
More patients with the unusual disorder were identified, many exhibiting a disturbing set of violent symptoms, Schenck said.
“They start kicking in bed, throwing punches at their bed partners, talking or screaming loudly, things like ‘Get the hell out of here!’ Then the wife has to scream really loudly to stop the episode,” he said.
“Limb jerking, twitching, throwing out your arm, throwing punches, kicking, sitting up, standing, jumping out of bed and running. Those behaviors are very typical with RBD,” he added.
One 70-year-old patient, described by his wife as having a gentle nature during the day, would punch and kick her as many as five times a night, Schenck said. On one occasion, he tried to strangle his wife while dreaming of fighting off a mauling bear.
Another patient, also 70, dreamed he had just taken down a deer and was going to break its neck. In reality it was his wife’s neck, which he discovered when he woke up. (She quit sleeping in the same bed.)
By 1986, Schenck and his team had published their first paper on the newly discovered sleep disorder.
As he followed patients over the years, however, Schenck discovered something more disturbing — the behavior could be a “canary in the mine” for later neurodegeneration.
“Losing the paralysis of REM sleep that is the basis of RBD is the earliest and strongest predictor of a later diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease and dementia with Lewy body,” Schenck said.
Lewy body dementia can refer to two different types of dementia: Parkinson’s disease dementia and dementia with Lewy bodies, which both affect cognition.
Parkinson’s disease, however, is a slowly progressive disorder that inhibits muscle control, balance and movement — although about 4 in 5 people with Parkinson’s ultimately develop dementia, according to Johns Hopkins Medicine.
In both Parkinson’s and the two dementias, cells in and around the stalk-like stem at the bottom of the brain begin to die. In addition to breathing, swallowing, heart rate and eye and facial movements, the brain stem also controls the sleep-wake cycle.
Early damage to the brain stem caused by Parkinson’s can interfere with the body’s innate ability to freeze the muscles while dreaming, thus allowing the body to sit up, scream, flail or otherwise act out a dream.
Hallucinations, which are common in Parkinson’s, can also occur, according to case studies. A 67-year-old man would see faceless, hooded or cloaked figures or animals while awake during the night. The images vanished when the man turned on a light or got up to investigate.
Such nighttime behaviors can often be controlled with medication, including high doses of melatonin or the drug clonazepam, which stops seizures and relaxes tense muscles, Schenck said.
“Either one alone or both in combination works 80% to 90% of the time, and there are a long list of alternative treatments,” said Schenck, who first published the connection between RBD and Parkinson’s in February 1996.
“We know the mechanism for RBD very well, and we know how to treat it,” he said. “The next step is to slow down or halt the progression to Parkinson’s disease and dementia with Lewy bodies.”
At first, researchers believed RBD only affected men but then realized that women are equally impacted.
“Just as many women have this problem, but because it’s much milder and doesn’t cause injury as often, they frequently don’t come in to seek help,” Schenck said. “Yet they have lost that muscle paralysis in REM sleep, and they’re just as much at risk for future Parkinson’s disease as the men.”
A clinical trial is underway at nine medical centers in the United States, Schenck said. Called the North American Prodromal Synucleinopathy Consortium, the research hopes to identify potential treatments for rapid eye movement sleep behavior disorder and slow its progression into Parkinson’s and dementia.
As a child, Donald Dorff shared a room with three brothers and never had any signs of a sleep disorder. On his wedding night, however, he scared his new bride with loud talking, groaning, teeth grinding and minor movements, according to Schenck’s case study.
About 41 years later, however, he began to have vivid, violent dreams that he would act out. In one dream, he was riding a motorcycle when another motorcyclist tried to ram him.
“I decided I’m going to kick his motorcycle away and at that point my wife woke me up and said, ‘What in heavens are you doing to me?’ because I was kicking the hell out of her,” Dorff told Schenck during treatment.
In another dream Dorff was under attack by a man with a rifle and preparing to shoot back when he suddenly woke up. “I was kneeling alongside the bed with my arms extended like 1 was holding the rifle up and ready to shoot.”
One night Dorff dived into a bedside dresser and cut himself, Schenck said. It was then that he found Schenck’s clinic and went there for treatment.
While some people with RBD develop full-blown Parkinson’s rather quickly, Dorff was not one of them. He died of prostate cancer, Schenck said, and was able to control his violent nighttime behavior until his death as long as he remained on medication.
Dorff’s case helped physicians discover an early key to two devastating disorders, allowing earlier diagnosis and treatment.
“If you’ve never been a sleepwalker or sleep talker throughout your life and suddenly, after the age of 50, you start and the talking becomes louder and more frequent, then you really should be evaluated by your primary care doctor,” Schenck said.
“Your doctor should consider neurological evaluation because that could be the first sign of a neurodegenerative disorder.”

At the end of the third episode of Night Springs, Shawn gets transported to a reality where there are only words, in this reality, his future self gives him a seed which he uses to grow a tree which he then hangs himself from to be reborn, once he wakes up after being hung he finds a fruit from the tree and that fruit has a seed which he then gives to his past self to plant the tree, creating a loop (or spiral?) When playing I couldn’t help but notice some parallels between Shawn and Alan’s rebirth. Alan gets a call from his future self in The Dark Place instructing him to place the clicker and the bullet of light in the shoebox by Alice’s statue, ensuring that Saga Anderson would find them when she got trapped there, then Alan sacrifices (gets shot with the bullet of light as Scratch) himself in order to destroy the dark presence and transcend the dark place. Both scenarios play out very similarly in the sense that both of them receive help from their future selves to get where they need to go, both sacrifice themselves to transcend (Alan gets shot, Shawn gets hung) both are being guided by women they called upon (Alan with Saga and Alice and Shawn with Jesse) and both are being hunted by dark figures (Alan by The Dark Presence/Scratch and Shawn by Warlin Door) and both are described as the chosen ones in regards to being the only versions of themselves who managed to break free (Alans variants, Tom Zane and Mr Scratch both failed to escape the dark place, and Shawns variants were all killed by Warlin Door)

DAY JUNE 8 2024
6-8-2024

‘WE CANNOT SIMPLY GO, GO, GO.’ WHAT IS ‘GIRL MOSSING,’ THE WELLNESS TREND THAT REJECTS HUSTLE CULTURE?

On TikTok and Instagram, people are “girl mossing”: lying on a forest floor, staring up at a leafy canopy or caressing moss. The United States National Forest Foundation even borrowed the term to kick off its 2024 Instagram account. Girl mossing recognizes a need to step away from the pressures of modern, urban life, promoting spending time in nature as a restorative practice. The fast pace and pressure of neoliberal capitalism take an enormous toll on well-being: not just personal, but social and planetary.
6-8-2024

FIVE WAYS ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE CAN IMPROVE YOUR DATING LIFE

Artificial intelligence is going to transform how we date. The question is: will it be for better or worse? It’s already causing some real problems, especially related to “romance scams” and other fraud. But it’s not all doom and gloom. Used in the right way, AI can actually make dating better. It can help write profiles and find matches, provide dating advice and coaching and, if all else fails, become a date companion. I have spent the last few years studying the impact of technology, and especially AI, on our
6-8-2024

STUDY ASSESSES ‘THE DANCER PERSONALITY’

“Tell me if you dance and I will tell you who you are!” A study led by researchers at the Max Planck Institute for Empirical Aesthetics (MPIEA) in Frankfurt am Main, Germany, has shown that both amateur and professional dancers are less neurotic than people who do not dance. They are also more agreeable, more open, and more extraverted.
6-8-2024

ONLINE SHOPPERS BEHAVE DIFFERENTLY AFTER CHATTING WITH STAFF OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER, RESEARCH SHOWS

In a digital world where people are mere pixels on a screen, gender bias can show up in unexpected forms. When people are online, anonymity and physical detachment embolden them to behave in biased ways
6-8-2024

INVESTORS BET BIG ON SUNNY DAYS, STUDY FINDS

It’s often said we can’t control the weather. But what if the weather controls how and when we invest our money? More specifically, what if the skies control how much we’re willing to gamble in the stock market? New research by the University of South Australia has found a connection between pleasant weather conditions and higher investment in lottery-like stocks. Lottery-like stocks are cheap compared to other stocks and, like lottery tickets, they can be seen as an opportunity to make a substantial gain. However, the chance of a higher
6-8-2024

TEENS TREATED UNFAIRLY BY TEACHERS MORE LIKELY TO HAVE POPULIST ATTITUDES

Perceived unjust teacher behavior is strongly and positively associated with populist attitudes among children and adolescents. Populist attitudes consist of ideologies including anti-elitism, people-centrism, and a dualistic perception of good versus evil, and where the foundation of political decision-making should be based on the general will of the people. In contrast to the association with teacher behavior, the correlation between young people’s relationships with peers and the development of populist attitudes is less strong, and the correlation between young people’s relationships
6-8-2024

MICROINCLUSIONS IMPROVE WOMEN’S WORKPLACE BELONGING AND COMMITMENT

New research shows how “microinclusions”—brief instances of positive treatment, especially from members of the dominant group—help women feel valued at work. Imagine your first day at a new job. You probably feel nervous, wondering how you’ll fit in with the team. It’s natural to worry if your co-workers will be supportive, or if they’ll take your contributions seriously. This experience is amplified for women in technology companies, who often face underrepresentation and
6-8-2024

BURNT OUT? HOW YOUR EMPLOYER CAN HELP YOU RETURN TO WORK FOR THE BETTER

The working world can be a pitiless one, as competition in the marketplace can put significant pressures on employees. Relentless deadlines, shrinking resources and shifting priorities all take their toll on employees’ well-being and mental health. In my home country of Belgium, more than two thirds (66.4%) of individuals on disability for psychological reasons had cases related to depression or burn-out. These worrisome statistics reflect broader trends across OECD countries, where nearly half (47.6%) of workers with mental-health problems have been absent from the office in the past year, compared
6-8-2024

FAMILY-FRIENDLY WORKPLACES BENEFIT EMPLOYEES, BUSINESSES

Paid leave and employee well-being are the focus of a three-part policy series on family-friendly business practices put together by the Brown School’s Clark-Fox Policy Institute at Washington University in St. Louis. “Creating a family-friendly workplace benefits both employees and businesses,” said Gary Parker, associate dean for external affairs and director of the institute. “For employees, it enhances work-life balance and job satisfaction,” he said. “For businesses, it leads to higher retention rates, reduced absenteeism and improved productivity. Policies such as paid leave, flexible work arrangements
6-8-2024

HOW TRUMP’S DEFINITION OF A ‘REAL’ AMERICAN HAS GRABBED HIS AUDIENCE—WHAT OUR RESEARCH SHOWS ABOUT WHY

Donald Trump has recently doubled down on his derogatory depictions of undocumented migrants in his bid to win the 2024 presidential election. In an interview with Time magazine, published on April 30 2024, Trump referred to migrants as “criminals,” who “come in and they steal our jobs, and steal our wealth, and they steal our country.” Trump was especially disparaging towards migrants from China, who he said are a “major force that’s forming in our country.” In short, according to Trump, undocumented migration is “an invasion of our country.” Trump’s
6-8-2024

NEW STUDY SHOWS MARKETING A BRAND’S SIMPLICITY CAN BACKFIRE

Irritability is a common side effect of heat. When companies tout the simplicity of their products, they may unknowingly invite customer dissatisfaction, new University of Oregon research finds. For decades, “simpler is better” has been accepted as a universal truth in marketing. Nick Light, assistant professor of marketing at the UO’ Lundquist College of Business, has tested that assumption. He found that most consumers prefer offerings that appear to be easy to use and understand. However, trumpeting simplicity can have a hidden, costly downside. “When marketing convinces consumers that things
6-8-2024

RESEARCHERS CREATE WINNING STRATEGY TO COMBAT VACCINE MISINFORMATION ON X

A new in-depth analysis shows that users who reply to misinformation about the COVID-19 vaccine on X, formerly known as Twitter, with a positive attitude, politeness, and strong evidence are more likely to encourage others to disbelieve the incorrect information. Researchers from three Georgia Tech schools found the most
6-8-2024

STUDY SHOWS DISENGAGED STUDENTS MORE LIKELY TO USE AI TOOLS FOR ASSIGNMENTS

A Swansea University psychology study has found that disengaged students are more likely to use AI tools—particularly ChatGPT—for academic assignments, raising questions about academic integrity and the need for proactive interventions. Launched in November 2022, ChatGPT is an AI program capable of answering questions in detailed, human-like ways. Researchers surveyed 160 undergraduate students, aged between 18 and 24, in March 2023 to assess their attitudes towards and past usage of AI tools such as ChatGPT in academic coursework. The study is published in The Internet and Higher Education journal. Thirty-two
6-8-2024

HUMAN CULTURE IS CHANGING TOO FAST FOR EVOLUTION TO CATCH UP—HERE’S HOW IT MAY AFFECT YOU

Research is showing that many of our contemporary problems, such as the rising prevalence of mental health issues, are emerging from rapid technological advancement and modernisation. A theory that can help explain why we respond poorly to modern conditions, despite the choices, safety and other benefits they bring, is evolutionary mismatch. Mismatch happens when an evolved adaptation, either physical or psychological, becomes misaligned with the environment. Take moths and some species of nocturnal flies, for example. Because they have to navigate in the dark, they evolved to use the moon
6-8-2024

YOUNG PEOPLE IN THE UK SAY THEY ARE LESS LIKELY TO VOTE IF THEIR PARENTS REPORT DEPRESSIVE SYMPTOMS

With a U.K. General Election approaching, new research has found that parental history of depression can predict whether a young person is likely to intend to vote. The research, led by the Department of Politics at the University of Liverpool, found that, at age 26, people were less likely to intend to vote if they had grown up with a parent experiencing high levels of depressive symptoms. Published in the journal Electoral Studies, the research used the British Cohort Study (BCS), which followed more than 16,000 babies born across a
6-8-2024

WHO GETS TO DECIDE WHAT COUNTS AS ‘DISORDER’?

As a scholar of urban governance and data policy, I viewed the responses to protests on U.S. campuses as about more than threats to academic freedom and freedom of speech. They are also threats to the fundamental rights of people in public spaces. The protesters’ tactics, particularly their use of tents in encampments, have brought debates around definitions of public order and disorder to the fore. Over the past couple of months, students in universities across the country, from the University of California, Los Angeles to the Massachusetts Institute of
6-8-2024

STUDYING VIOLENCE TOWARD WOMEN AND ANIMALS CAN HELP US DEVELOP STRATEGIES TO PREVENT BOTH

We live in a world where not everyone feels safe and respected, especially women. Sexual violence and abuse are significant global health issues. Intimate partner violence continues to be a problem in Canada. According to Statistics Canada, of the 117,093 victims of police-reported intimate partner violence in 2022, almost 80% were women and girls. More than half of women in the United States have experienced sexual violence involving physical contact. Given these high rates of sexual abuse, it is imperative that we improve upon what we currently know about violence
6-8-2024

WHY THE FUTURE OF DEMOCRACY COULD DEPEND ON YOUR GROUP CHATS

I became newly worried about the state of democracy when, a few years ago, my mother was elected president of her neighborhood garden club. Her election wasn’t my worry—far from it. At the time, I was trying to resolve a conflict on a large email group I had created. Someone, inevitably, was being a jerk on the internet. I had the power to remove them, but did I have the right? I realized that the garden club had in its bylaws something I had never seen in nearly all the
6-8-2024

NET ZERO IS NOT JUST GOOD SCIENCE—IT’S ALSO A GOOD DEAL FOR ORDINARY PEOPLE

As the UK moves into a general election, a misinformed debate over the country’s climate transition and legally binding net zero targets risks further dividing people. Much of this debate in the UK focuses on the “cost” of net zero. For instance, energy secretary Claire Coutinho recently stated the government did not want a “net zero leviathan” to crush the nation’s “brilliant enterprise economy,” while the Labor Party had to backtrack on its own headline climate investment pledge, citing “affordability” and “fiscal rules.” But the true “cost” is tricky to
6-8-2024

THE FASCINATING PSYCHOLOGY BEHIND ‘DINE AND DASH’ AND WHY IT’S ABOUT SO MUCH MORE THAN A FREE MEAL

Sometimes when I read the newspapers, I think that going to a restaurant and leaving without paying has become something of an epidemic. My research into lying has taught me that the psychology behind acts of deception is often deeply complex. Let me start with a confession. I was guilty of dine and dash a very long time ago before it had a catchy name. I was in a group that hung about a chip shop at the turn-of-the-road in north Belfast, a poor and troubled area. I had a
6-8-2024

YOU CAN NOW BE FROZEN AFTER DEATH IN AUSTRALIA. IF YOU’RE REVIVED IN THE FUTURE, WILL YOU LEGALLY BE THE SAME PERSON?

In recent weeks, Southern Cryonics—the southern hemisphere’s only cryopreservation facility, located in rural New South Wales—announced it had successfully cryopreserved its first patient. There are only a handful of cryopreservation facilities across the globe—two in the United States, and one each in Russia, China, Australia and Switzerland. If the claims made on their websites and in the press are accurate, these facilities likely have no more than 600 patients in cryonic storage in total. Media reports however suggest interest in cryopreservation has risen since the onset of the COVID pandemic,
6-8-2024

ENGINEERS HAVE A DUTY TO PROTECT PUBLIC WELL-BEING, BUT LESS THAN HALF LEARN HOW TO DO SO EFFECTIVELY

Engineers who received public welfare responsibility training in classes are more likely to consider the societal impact of technologies they design and to take action when concerns arise, according to a study by University of Michigan researchers published in The Journal of Engineering Education. While engineers are professionally obligated to protect the safety and well-being of those their technologies impact, the study found that nearly a third of U.S. practicing engineers have never received any training in public welfare
6-8-2024

HIRING PRESSURES TO DIVERSIFY ARE INFLUENCING PATTERNS OF DISCRIMINATION IN UNEXPECTED WAYS

In 2004, a pair of economists published a landmark study to measure discrimination in the labor market. In the study, the researchers applied to real job openings with fictitious applicants but changed the applicant names to reflect a different gender or race. They found clear evidence of discrimination: White men and women received 50% more callbacks than Black men and women. More recently, Berkeley
6-8-2024

STUDY FINDS RACIAL BIAS IN TRAFFIC STOPS BY CHICAGO POLICE

Black drivers in Chicago are significantly more likely than white drivers to be stopped by police regardless of where the drivers live or are going, according to a new study led by a Cornell city planning expert that maps the racial composition of roads by using mobile phone GPS data. The study confirms a racial bias
6-8-2024

DO WE HAVE MORE EMPATHY FOR PEOPLE WHO ARE SIMILAR TO US? NEW RESEARCH SUGGESTS IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE

How do people successfully interact with those who are completely different from them? And can these differences create social barriers? Social scientists are struggling with these questions because the mental processes underlying social interactions are not well understood. One recent concept that has become increasingly popular is the “double-empathy problem.” This draws on research looking at people who are known to experience social difficulties,
6-8-2024

HOW CAN WE MAKE GOOD DECISIONS BY OBSERVING OTHERS? A VIDEOGAME AND COMPUTATIONAL MODEL HAVE THE ANSWER

How can disaster response teams benefit from understanding how people most efficiently pick strawberries together, or how they choose the perfect ice cream shop with friends? All these scenarios are based on the very fundamental question of how and when human groups manage to adapt collectively to different circumstances. Two recent studies on collective dynamics by the Cluster of Excellence Science of Intelligence (SCIoI) in Berlin, Germany, lay the groundwork to promote better
6-8-2024

OTHERS’ WORDS, NOT FIRSTHAND EXPERIENCE, SHAPE SCIENTIFIC AND RELIGIOUS BELIEF FORMATION, STUDY FINDS

Three proposals explaining the differential confidence. (A) Intuitively, one might assume that confidence in scientific entities (e.g., germs) is higher than confidence in religious entities (e.g., angels) because scientific entities are observable in principle whereas religious entities are not. (B) The Dual- Pathway Model proposes separate information pathways for scientific versus religious beliefs; belief in scientific entities is primarily driven by direct experience of causal outcomes whereas belief in religious entities is primarily driven by testimony. (C) Contrary to these two models, the Unified Model proposes that belief in both
6-8-2024

TRYING TO SAVE MONEY? RESEARCH SUGGESTS PAYING IN CASH—WHILE YOU STILL CAN

Cash is in crisis. In Australia, it’s now only used for 16% of in-person transactions, down from about 70% in 2007. The situation is so dire that on Monday, independent federal MP Andrew Gee introduced a private member’s bill that would force businesses to accept cash or else face big fines. The reality is that over the past decade, technological advancements have utterly transformed the way we pay for goods and services. Phones and smartwatches can now easily be used to pay by card, and buy-now-pay-later
6-8-2024

MESSAGES CAN TRIGGER THE OPPOSITE OF THEIR DESIRED EFFECT—BUT YOU CAN AVOID COMMUNICATION THAT BACKFIRES

The best graduation speeches dispense wisdom you find yourself returning to long after the graduation tassels are turned. Take the feel-good life advice in Baz Luhrmann’s song to a class that graduated 25 years ago. Only on a recent relisten did I realize it also captures one of the research-based strategies I teach for avoiding communication that backfires. The tip is hiding in plain sight in the song’s title, “Everybody’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen).” Communication aimed at promoting a certain behavior can have the opposite
6-8-2024

DIFFERENCES IN EDUCATION, VALUES BETWEEN MEN AND WOMEN CAUSE MISMATCHES WHEN SEEKING A PARTNER, FINDS SPANISH STUDY

The educational expansion of women has led to changes in the differences in educational level of men and women when looking for a partner. Research conducted by the UAB Center for Demographic Studies (CED-CERCA) has examined for the first time the role of discrepancies in gender role values and education among potential spouses. According to the study, about a third of women in favor of gender equality and with a higher education would not be able to find a homogamous male partner. The work is published in the journal Perspectives
6-8-2024

‘FUZZY’ MAPS OFFER INSIGHT INTO LOCAL PERCEPTIONS OF THE VALUE OF VOLUNTEERING

In the global South, volunteer programs are framed by policymakers and scholars as an effective vehicle for empowering women living in poverty. But this narrative often rests on scant knowledge of the perspectives and experiences of a key set of local stakeholders: the volunteers. A new study co-authored by Yale anthropologist Catherine Panter-Brick addresses this knowledge gap by engaging with Syrian refugees and Jordanian women from poor households in Amman, Jordan,
6-8-2024

EXPERTS SAY USE OF POLITICAL MEMES ARE A PREDICTOR OF POLITICAL VIOLENCE

In a study of social media activity prior to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, researchers at the University of Notre Dame say a sharp increase in politically salient imagery online—visual content designed to influence, dehumanize, manipulate and motivate audiences—was a predictor of the conflict. With collaborators at Colby College and Kennesaw State University, the researchers collected post history from a select group of 989 Russian milbloggers—a term used for “military bloggers”
6-8-2024

PROGRAMS TO PREVENT SEXUAL VIOLENCE SHOW NO EVIDENCE OF CURBING ASSAULTS, ANALYSIS FINDS

Sexual violence prevention programs effectively change ideas and beliefs that underscore assaults, but show no evidence of reducing their actual occurrence, a new comprehensive analysis shows. The findings are published in Psychological Science in the Public Interest. Researchers led by behavioral scientist Roni Porat of Hebrew University challenge the assumption that changing people’s thoughts about sexual violence will change their actual behavior. They call on scientists to study more behavior-centered approaches to reducing sexual
6-8-2024

DIVERSE FRIEND GROUPS PROMOTE BETTER SOCIAL COHESION AND WELL-BEING, STUDY FINDS

New research featuring more than 24,000 people has found that having diverse groups of friends improves well-being and social cohesion, despite people’s tendency to gravitate towards people more similar to them. Led by researchers at the University of Birmingham and published in Psychological Science, the study used data from 24,726 adults from over 10,000 English neighborhoods to examine the composition of people’s social networks according to age, ethnicity, income, and education to understand the implications of homophily (preference for similar people) on social cohesion subjective well-being. Dr. Miguel Ramos, lead
6-8-2024

STUDY SHOWS JUSTICE FACILITY DOGS BENEFIT WELL-BEING FOR CHILDREN FACING COURT

A new Edith Cowan University (ECU) study has revealed that having a four-legged friend at Children’s Court significantly reduces stress and anxiety for young victims, witnesses, and their caregivers. ECU criminology researchers Dr. Suz Rock and Associate Professor Natalie Gately have published the first Australian study to evaluate the impact of introducing a justice facility dog to a Children’s Court. The study “Kids, Courts and Canines: Evaluating the Justice Facility Dog Program through a Therapeutic Lens
6-8-2024

SEXUAL MINORITIES EXPERIENCE MORE EXCLUSION IN EVERYDAY SITUATIONS, FINDS STUDY

Lesbian, gay and bisexual people experience exclusion more frequently than heterosexual people. This is the finding of a recent study published in the Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin by researchers from the University of Basel and the RPTU University of Kaiserslautern-Landau. According to the study, people who are perceived as less gender-conforming are more frequently socially excluded. This could also affect heterosexual people if they deviate from traditional
6-8-2024

STILL RIDING LA’S METRO AFTER THE PANDEMIC? YOU PROBABLY THINK IT’S SAFER THAN THOSE WHO DON’T ANYMORE

As Jon Regardie wrote last year in Los Angeles Magazine, “Metro’s raison d’etre is to get hundreds of thousands of people each day across Southern California.” But the COVID-19 pandemic sent the numbers of riders plummeting to a low of 13%, and ridership still hasn’t fully rebounded. The reason may now be clear, thanks to the latest USC Dornsife LABarometer survey, conducted by the Center for Economic and Social Research (CESR) at the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences. The survey found that although public transportation ridership in
6-8-2024

CAN VAGUE GO VIRAL FOR GEN Y?

Generation Y, Gen Y, is commonly referred to as the millennial generation. It usually includes individuals born between the early 1980s and the mid-to-late 1990s or early 2000s. This generation follows Generation X and precedes Generation Z. The millennials, it is said, grew up during the transition to digital technology and the rise of the internet, and this has shaped their perspectives, behavior, and the way they use technology and media. They are often characterized as tech-savvy, adaptable, and socially conscious, with a strong affinity for social media and digital
6-8-2024

ITALIAN MOMS WITH 3+ KIDS WORK FAR FEWER YEARS THAN DADS, WHILE FINLAND SHOWS EQUALITY

Over the past century, the number of working women in Western countries has steadily increased. However, numerous studies show that it is still primarily women who have to manage the balancing act between parenthood and working life. Compared to fathers and childless women, mothers often have a less straightforward career path and face greater hurdles to career advancement. Little research has been done on what happens to women’s employment trajectories from midlife when childrearing efforts are
6-8-2024

TOP IT INDUSTRY MANAGERS ARE DIVIDED ON THE NEED FOR FACE-TO-FACE COMMUNICATION IN THE WORKPLACE

Many managers are currently seeking a balance between digital and face-to-face communication. A recent study from the University of Eastern Finland published in Information Technology & People shows that top IT industry managers have different views on when and for what purposes face-to-face communication in the workplace is needed. “Some top managers felt that all work tasks can be performed remotely with the help of digital communication. According to them, face-to-face communication is only necessary for maintaining interpersonal relationships and a sense of community,” says Doctoral Researcher Lotta Salin of
6-8-2024

STUDY FINDS SIMPLE HEADLINES ATTRACT MORE ONLINE NEWS READERS

The competition for online attention in today’s news environment is fierce. High-quality news from credible sources must compete for attention with misinformation and a rapidly increasing amount of partisan content. How can a news organization stand out as a reputable and trustworthy outlet while driving readers to its site? The answer is simple: literally. According to research from Michigan State University, news readers engage more with simple writing, suggesting journalists should write simply—clearly and without ambiguity—to attract attention online. The study was published in the journal Science Advances. “Newsrooms want
6-8-2024

STUDY SHOWS BANNING FALSE INFORMATION TRAFFICKERS ONLINE CAN IMPROVE PUBLIC DISCOURSE

When Twitter banned more than 70,000 traffickers of false information from its platform in the wake of the violence at the U.S. Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, the impact went beyond the silencing of those users. A study co-authored by UC Riverside public policy and political science scholars published in the journal Nature on June 5, found that the crackdown by Twitter (now called X after it was acquired by billionaire Elon Musk in late 2022) also significantly reduced the number of misinformation posts by users who stayed on the
6-8-2024

YOUNG ADULTS SAY STEADY SUPPORT FROM CARING ADULTS MADE DIFFERENCE IN TRANSITIONING FROM CHILD WELFARE SYSTEM

Young people who have exited foster care generally fare better—in work, school and relationships—if they get consistent support from adults who care about them during their teen years. My research team reached these findings by interviewing 21 people, now in their late 20s, who had aged out of foster care when they turned 18, had spent time in foster care as children or grew up in families that had active child welfare cases. These young adults relayed the degree to which they received support from
6-8-2024

HOW THE 1901 DISCOVERY EXPEDITION’S POLAR EXPLORERS STAYED HEALTHY DURING THEIR ANTARCTIC JOURNEY

Antarctica is the most inhospitable continent on earth. It’s dry, cold, and completely dark for months of the year. Edwardian explorers were some of the first to brave the Antarctic winter, developing new knowledge still drawn upon by scientists today. The Discovery expedition (1901–4) played a key role in the history of polar exploration. It was led by the Royal Navy commander Robert Falcon Scott, a pioneering polar explorer who died in 1912 after attempting to reach the south pole. The expedition’s third lieutenant was Ernest Shackleton, who led three
6-8-2024

SUSTAINABLE BUSINESS MODELS INFUSED WITH AGRI-INNOVATION SYSTEMS CAN REDUCE POST-HARVEST FOOD LOSS AND WASTE

developing sustainable business models that are multi-actor networked for integrating them with agricultural innovation systems initiatives can enable a systemic approach for reducing food loss and value loss at the post-harvest
6-8-2024

WILL THE 2024 OLYMPIC GAMES BECOME THE PLAYING FIELD FOR SOCIAL JUSTICE PROTESTS?

Yannick Kluch, a professor of recreation, sport and tourism at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign, studies sport as a platform for promoting social justice. Kluch has worked with the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Committee, U.S. Diving and the National Collegiate Athletic Association. He spoke with research editor Sharita Forrest about the history of Olympic athletes’ social justice protests and governing organizations’ efforts to avert them with Rule 50 of the Olympic Charter.
6-8-2024

STUDY FINDS WE SPEND MORE WITH CASHLESS PAYMENTS

A study found support for the existence of a positive “cashless effect,” which is when consumers spend more when using cashless payment methods in comparison to cash. The study suggests the cashless effect leads people to spend more when purchasing products that are typically used to signal status, such as jewelry. However, the
6-8-2024

LAWS MEANT TO KEEP DIFFERENT RACES APART STILL INFLUENCE DATING PATTERNS, DECADES AFTER BEING INVALIDATED

If you are single and looking for a romantic partner, chances are that you have used a dating app. But the likelihood that others will like, or even see, your profile may depend on your race. Studies have found that all people on dating apps, regardless of their own race, are more likely to contact white people using the app. And all people using dating apps are least likely to contact African American women and Asian American men. Until recently, some popular apps, including OkCupid, Match, Hinge and Grindr, provided
6-8-2024

VIRTUAL LABS IN PSYCHOLOGY RESEARCH BOOST DIVERSITY

University of Oregon psychologists are breaking down barriers to include underrepresented populations in research by bringing laboratories online. The researchers are trying to address a longstanding issue in psychology studies, which often rely on undergraduate students to volunteer as research subjects.
6-8-2024

ATTENDING LOCAL EVENTS STRENGTHENS NEIGHBORHOOD BONDS, SURVEY REVEALS

how often people visit and actively participate in local events and how this affects their sense of place or their connection to their community. A survey of almost 400 households in the state’s coastal council area of the City of Holdfast Bay found that people who frequently attend local events or participate as volunteers, organizers or exhibitors, have a stronger
6-8-2024

STUDY SHOWS ONLINE PROFESSIONAL EDUCATION WORKS FOR COMPLEX TOPICS

“COVID-19 forced educators to adjust their educational best practices to an unfamiliar virtual classroom, and professional development was no different,” said Karen Jo Matsler, assistant professor in practice for UTeach at UTA
6-8-2024

EYE-TRACKING STUDY REVEALS THAT SIMPLY LOOKING AT THE NATURAL WORLD IN URBAN AREAS CAN REAP WELL-BEING BENEFITS

Integrating more natural features into city landscapes can play a crucial role in enhancing the mental well-being of residents. A study by Bangor University and Technion- Israel Institute of Technology, published in the scientific journal People and Nature, involved city dwellers and showed how paying visual attention to greenery, rather than human-made structures, can alleviate anxiety and enhance restorative feelings. The 117 urban residents who took part in the study, were guided on a
6-8-2024

ADVERTISERS MAY BE INADVERTENTLY FUNDING MISINFORMATION

Companies in industries such as health care, technology and insurance have been found to advertise on misinformation websites, according to an analysis published in Nature. In a related experiment, consumers who were made aware that a company advertised on a misinformation website were likely to reject an offer of a gift voucher to spend with that company. The majority of digital advertisement placement on the internet is done via an algorithm-based distribution
6-8-2024

STUDY SUGGESTS EVOLUTIONARY BASIS FOR MALE RISK-TAKING BEHAVIORS

why we associate risk-taking with males rather than females, from an evolutionary standpoint. Study author Hannah Goodman, from UWA’s School of Human Sciences, said researchers found men engaged in riskier behaviors when crossing a busy traffic intersection, supporting growing evidence that risk-taking is predominantly an androcentric behavior. “Males

I applaud all of you truly seeking recovery from pornography. The hold it has on you mentally and physically is understandably excruciating. The effects it has on your relationships more than likely is also excruciating, even devastating.
I hope you don't mind me writing this here as I would like to provide insight as to the damaging effects it has on men, women, families. I also pray that a Christian man with long term recovery (I've seem several men explaining their history, ill effects, guidance, encouragement) under his belt reaches out to offer him support, even if a comment. Therapy is far too expensive in our state, he has no socials to seek a mentor on his own.
I am the wife of a 33 year old porn addict that has been in and out of recovery since his 20's. He has been using since he was a young teenager. He understands that lusting after other woman is cheating and adultery.
My husband is only just beginning to piece together over our hundreds on coversations just how much of his life it has robbed him of. So much time has been spent watching abhorrent and fake situations, fake women, unrealistic sex. He doesn't comprehend foreplay, he is learning that it isn't just kissing her neck for a few seconds while grabbing her ass and then slamming a chub (thanks PIED) into a dry woman and leaving micro tears isn't foreplay at all and that the woman isn't at all turned on enough. That the sex he learned is lack luster and lacking true intimacy and romance. That the PIED stems from him not getting the same dopamine rush of new girl, new girl, new outfit, new pose, new whatever. He is just beginning to understand it destroys his true attraction. His emotional maturity is that of a 15 or 16 year old. The temper tantrums withdrawl induces are heart breaking to witness, it's heart breaking to hear him crave other women and actively seek them on the phone or out in public. He never fell in love with a hobby or developed a skill.
Betrayal trauma is real. It beats us women down mentally. It truly causes insecurities with bodies, the idea of us never being good enough is solidified with each and every relapse. Each and every time we attempt sex and he goes soft. Woman feel a level of rejection that men cannot comprehend when we say no to sex. It's difficult when we see what he looks at on his phone, when our minds run with the question of "what does he seek?" If we dont know, it's absolutely devastating to watch him check out women in public because "all guys do it". (No, there a millions of men that posses self control, self respect, respect for their woman. They dont all walk down the street with an over sexualized mind looking for their next hit, I digress) You are not only showing us what you lust after and provide us a real life women that we are comparing ourselves too and ultimately competing with. Then you turn around and tell us to "get over it", "I go to bed with you every night", "your so insecure, its not like im f* her"🤮. When you drop subtle hints about makeup, hair, outfits, mannerisms, getting plastic surgery to fit whatever mold that is not us, we know it comes from you porn. We know we are yet again being compared. We feel as though you have only settled for us as you can do "so much better".
When you are with a partner, married or not, there should be no competition. Men should not be creating such insecurity for the woman they love. Men should not be manipulating them, gaslighting, go into full fledged DARVO loops to protect their teenage heart and mind from losing what has destroyed them.
My husband started truly seeking recovery in Jan of 2023 and has been hard core porn free since. Slow attempts at rewiring his brain from such fantasies and bringing him down to just him and I and what he is actually feeling and living. He did well but he was using me up until the fantasies he had in his warped mind became far too twisted for the Christian wife he had sought and married. (I know he wasn't on hard core as Truple is in place, finances absolutely prevent gimme from obtaining a second device, and he is always hinest abiut relapse situations) That changed my respect and trust in him. What else is he capable of? I don't know the man I married was a daily - moment to moment thought. I shared the reboot process, reviewed his need to get his brain out of fantasy world and bring him to reality and he went off all socials. The changes were astounding. My husband was returning and apolegetic and again apologizing for being an addict,, he penis began functioning correctly again and it became what it should have been - longer, more girth. He regained the ability to orgasm by something other than his own hand and various positions. Then the ferocious withdrawls hit 2 months later. The change in him was immediate, his mood, anger, desires all exploded and I felt I knew him even less. It took months of arguing, his performance issues, the change in me he had provoked and how much it impacted our relationship before he removed all socials again. This cycle went on for months. He is just now learning recovery takes more than just dropping socials. It takes understanding the addiction and what it does to the brain. It takes sitting and processing through all the thoughts and symptoms of withdrawl. Which means actual research, recovery plans, understanding events from childhood and how he used porn to cope and how to develop actually coping skills, how to seek and fulfil his dopamine need with real life, non sexual activities. There is more, but it's hard.
The most recent relapse to soft core thirst traps (it is porn boys) on YouTube shorts that brought me to my breaking point. Well, a little more about that. He made it to month 2 of no phone and all the amazing changes returned. Then a huge stressor knocked gim down. I am 5 months pregnant and just put on pelvic rest as my life and our child's life could end from me orgasming. I very well could bleed to death. His response when I told him was not about his wife or child and our well being. It was a temper tantrum about him not being able to have sex. What was he going to do for the next five months? A few days of me Servicing him while processing my new added elements of hell and very quickly came down to my decision of it's recovery or we divorce so I can protect my mental health and ensure our child is not subject to their fathers addiction and ill effects. (He did come around to talking about the pregnancy and risks and understanding but addiction kept him from allowing it to be the first line of thought. Please do not come at him for being a raging asshole, he can come off that way just like all other addicts. I have clinical experience in the addiction world just not porn, I am a true supporter in giving time, space, patient understanding while attempting to heal from an evil crutch. He is a good man who does adore me outside of the addiction)
He now understands some of what I experience with betrayal trauma, that I can not live in a mental hell he is dragging me through as a result of his addiction. I understand all the negative emotions come from the hold this sick, destructive addiction has on his fragile mind. He now understands HE is the one destroying the marriage and throwing it all away for fake, immoral, broken women that are simply using him for their own benefit. He understands I have given him 100 percent of me, tried to be his morally sound God fearing wife trying to keep us both on the straight path, I've been the diligent helper and provider of wisdom, the de escalator, the logical thinker all while taking the addictions abuse and attempting to keep myself in check mentally and physically. He also doesn't want to be the creepy guy gawking at young women, they very type he yells at other men for when they are checking me out.
If you made it this far, thank you. I'm sorry if this turned out choppy. It's all very complicated. Life is hard enough without a porn addiction. No one deserves this agony. Please, be kind to yourself and do the hard work it takes to truly recover. Apologize to your woman and love her the way she deserves.

Looking for love? It should come as no surprise that your dating profile photo can have a huge impact on your chances of finding love—or a hookup, no judgment here.
First impressions are almost always digital these days, and that kind of pressure can make it hard to choose the perfect pic. Of course you want to look good (don’t we all?) but you don’t want to oversell yourself, either.
So how can you look your best while still looking like … you? Try these 15 tips to do flattering dating photography that will get you more DMs.
Put some distance between you and the camera
I love a good selfie, but it may not be the most flattering option for your dating profile pic, especially if you’re using the front-facing camera. Who wants to see your arm off to the side in every photo?
Try to put some distance between yourself and the camera. Use a tripod if you have one, or prop your phone up using whatever objects you have available. That might mean using books, boxes, or a shelf to find a flattering angle.
Another option is to ask your friends to take a candid photo of you. You might be surprised at how good they come out! Ask them to take realistic, everyday shots. A candid shot is more unique and will stand out—plus it gives more insight into your personality.
Get the angle right
Your camera should be slightly above eye level—this is the most universally flattering angle. Too high, and it makes your head look small and weird. Too low, and you risk giving yourself the dreaded double chin.
You can also tilt your head forward and down just a little. This brings your forehead a bit closer to the camera and helps accentuate your jawline.
Another thing to keep in mind is that most of us have a “good” side. If you can’t figure out what yours is, it’s probably your left. Studies have shown that people tend to prefer the left side of someone’s face.
P.S. If you aren’t sure which angle looks best, try changing up your dating profile pic to see which image gets you the most matches. It sounds weird, but it will help you find the pics that potential dates love!
Use indirect lighting
I love ring lights, but sometimes their direct light can be a bit much. Go for soft, indirect lighting to do classier dating photography.
Natural lighting is best, so if the weather cooperates, then try heading outside to snap a few shots. The best time of day is either during sunrise or sunset (the “golden hour”), but you can also try taking your pictures on an overcast day or in the shadow of a building.
If you’re taking your photos inside, make sure the room has soft lighting. No one looks good under harsh fluorescent lights. Snap a pic in front of a sunny window covered by a curtain for a softer look.
And whatever you do, avoid using flash on your phone! Not only will it highlight imperfections, but it can also make you look older … and not in a good way.
Leave the sunglasses off
Sure, sunglasses are trendy, but people want to see what you really look like. In fact, a study by PhotoFeeler showed that people with sunglasses are perceived as less likable. Ouch.
Potential dates want to be able to see your eyes because it’s an indicator of how trustworthy you are. You might love the look of your Ray-Bans, but trust me: your gorgeous eyes will do all of the talking.
With that said, if you have a photo of yourself rocking sunglasses and you absolutely love it, you can add it to your picture gallery—just don’t use it as your main profile pic.
Relax your eyes
The eyes may be the window to the soul, but people do some crazy stuff with their eyes when they’re getting their picture taken!
The main thing here is to R-E-L-A-X. If you shut your eyes too tightly, it’s going to be hard to gauge your personality.
Some people take squinting too far. You might feel like it makes you look mysterious, but most of the time you just look angry, which is not the look you want for a dating profile pic! It also creates more creases around the eye, which probably isn’t what you’re going for.
Of course, you don’t want to open your eyes too much. The last thing you want is to become the next “Overly Attached Girlfriend” meme. Keep your eyes relaxed; you can squint a little by bringing your lower eyelids up slightly.
Show off those pearly whites
I know smiling for the camera can feel awkward, but a smile can do wonders for your dating life. Smiling makes you look more approachable and friendly, so if you want more folks to swipe right, whip out your 24 karat smile.
When you smile, make sure you show your teeth a bit. A tight-lipped smile just doesn’t look genuine. If you’re self-conscious about your teeth, you can always whiten your teeth in photos with just a click of the button.
Go for some color
Blacks, grays, and dark blue tones can come across as a bit gloomy or intense, especially if those are the only colors you’re wearing. Pick a few outfits in a variety of colors for your dating profile pics. Jewel tones and pastels can brighten a picture and make you look more lighthearted and fun.
Now, if you really want to catch people’s attention, wear red. Multiple studies have shown that both men and women find people wearing the color red more attractive.
Plus, you’ll stand out from all the other people wearing beige or gray—and there are a lot of them. Tinder analyzed 12,000 photos and found 56% of women and 72% of men wear neutral colors. So go ahead—throw on that cute red top and strut your stuff like the superstar you are.
Crop the photo correctly
Your face is gorgeous, but you probably don’t want your face to fill the entire frame. Ideally, you should take up only 60 - 70% of the frame in any dating profile pic. Try to get your shoulders in the frame and don’t be afraid to throw in one or two full-body pics in your gallery, too.
If you want to use a travel photo because it has some crazy, epic background, you can totally do that. Just make sure you’re still taking up about 20-40% of the picture. Yes, the Grand Canyon is spectacular, but people want to see you!
Be aware of your background
Speaking of backgrounds, you’ll need to pay close attention to that, too. I’m not going to judge your messy room, but potential dates on Tinder might. At the very least, try to pose in front of a clean spot in your apartment.
You can take this a step further and add a few things into the background to hint at your interests. A strategically-placed telescope or a framed painting can give potential dates insight into your personality.
(And for the love of all that is good in this world, avoid bathroom pics. They’re usually not as flattering as you think and they’re definitely cliché.)
Stick to current photos
No matter how much you love that picture of you at the beach from 2016, keep it out of your dating profile. Sure, we all wish we could rewind the clock every now and then, but it’s best to show off the real you. Try your best to stick with photos that are less than a year old.
And in case you need to be reminded: the “you” from today is just as amazing (if not more) than the “you” from years past. I promise.
Use casual pictures
I hate to be the one to say it, but if you’re super dressed up in all of your photos, it could raise your dates’ expectations a bit too much.
And I know what you’re going to say: “But I looked amaaaazing at my friend’s wedding!” I totally get it.
But when it comes to dating photography, you want to make sure you can recreate the look in the pictures that you post. These pics should look like the real, every day you. Save the fancy photos for your social media.
Skip the group photos
A lot of people like to include group photos in their dating profile pictures, but this doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a good idea. Sure, group photos can show your social side—and that’s important—but your profile pic isn’t the place to do it.
In the fast-paced dating world of swiping left and right, people simply don’t want to take the time to figure out who you are in the pic. You’ve only got about 1-3 seconds to capture their attention, and a group photo is just too confusing.
Get creative
Do you have any hobbies that define who you are? Don’t be afraid to feature them in your profile pic! If you’re a photographer, hold your camera or wear it slung around your neck. If you’re an artist, playfully wave a paintbrush toward the camera.
When you’re doing something that you truly enjoy, it shows. These fun, casual pictures give people a sneak peek at the real you that goes way beyond a simple headshot.
Just don’t fake it—if your profile pic shows you strumming a guitar, someone will probably ask you to play it at some point. Make sure you can follow through!
Have someone else choose your dating profile pic
Most of the time we’re pretty good at choosing pics for dating photography that showcase our best qualities. But hey, sometimes we get it wrong. We’re just too familiar with our own appearance and personality. This can lead to a bias that someone who’s never met you may not have.
Translation: a picture that you think is perfect might give off a different impression to someone who doesn’t know you. Remember, it only takes a few seconds for a stranger to determine whether they want to get to know you better.
You can always have a trusted friend choose your photo, but if you want honest feedback from someone’s first impression, try using a photo testing site like DATEnhance.
Up your dating game
Following these 15 photography tips for dating will give you plenty of flattering photos to choose from. And don’t be shy about taking lots of pictures—the more, the merrier. You’ll want to settle on 4 - 6 photos with different outfits, looks, and poses to feature in your dating photo gallery.
Remember that the goal isn’t to look perfect—it’s to look perfectly you. The Match Artist is here to help you add the perfect photo to any dating profile.

Age of Legends
Prologue(Death and birth of a dragon)

Rand was happy, there wasn’t much else he could say about how he felt right there at that specific moment. Lying there in bed wearing nothing but his small cloths and a silk shirt half buttoned. Beside him sleeping so peacefully was one of his beautiful wives, Elmindreada, though she hated that name and preferred Min. Thinking back on many long years of peace and growth, yes he was fated to break the world, and he had. Though the prophecies never mentioned the creation and growth he would also leave behind. The creation of the black tower and the worldwide acceptance of male Aes Sedai, his crown and epitome of success the cleansing of saiadin. That and the discovery of ancient knowledge to confirm anyone should be able to learn to touch at least a small part of the true source, at least most people could. Those two things alone would have vast and far-reaching consequences for the good. The covers beside him shifted as his wife turned over in her sleep showing him her short curly hair. Thoughts drifting again to convincing the Aeil and Tu’athan(the tinkers he thought fondly still) to make peace, them taking it a step further and settling in the two rivers. The tinkers, the wondering people and followers of the way of the leaf, coming to terms with the Aiel spear wielders and settling in one place, that one place being his boyhood homeland. Perrin was there, as well as all the Emond fielders, what’s more they set him up like some king and started calling the place Manetheren.
Mat even came back and settled down to retire with the remainder of his family after his wife the empress died. Rand frowned because that wasn’t a happy memory, her battle with some kind of internal growth that even the best healers couldn’t fix, it was slow and painful. She was tough and knew enough to put things in order so there wouldn’t be any war for succession, but after her death and with no children not adopted, Mat just had no pull to stay. He came back and Perrin gave him an estate where he spent the rest of his days carousing in taverns even if no one would play dice with him again. The rest of his days were not much however, less than two years after his wife Mattrim died of a heart attack. The same strange fox head medallion he wore around his neck that had saved him so many times from enemy power wielders, due to its powers of absorbing any of the one power used against the wearer, was strangely the main cause of his death as there had been an Aes Sedai capable of healing close by. Rand wondered what ever became of that medallion. Trying to shift his thoughts back to happier things he thought of Elayne another of his wives and queen of the region this new “kingdom” was growing. Or at least she was. Having not one but two kingdoms to run was taxing her, especially when one played that awful game of houses so much, as if it were breathing. She actually willingly gave that area to Perrin, that and more besides. “Having friends at your back, especially friends who know they owe you can only help.”, he remembered her saying when he asked her.
He laughed remembering how her cute golden-haired little face grew so stern while she rounded on him for not caring about his friends and shouldn’t they also get something for all the help they provided at the last battle. Of course, it also had nothing to do with being such close friends with Perrin’s wife Fail. Manetheren though, when asked Perrin just shrugged his huge shoulders saying one name is as good as any, and it was the one that everyone agreed on.
Min groaned softly beside him still wrapped in the silken bedding spread. His laugh seemed to have disturbed her, he quickly stifled it and glared at the lavish bedroom they slept in as if that were the fault for his mirth. Lying on top of the silken covers because he never quite got used to sleeping on feather mattresses. It really was a lavish bedroom, filled with rugs and wall coverings, paintings, not one but two large dressers with mirrors, a matching and equally large wardrobe, currently opened showing two other mirrors on the inside of the doors, smaller than the dresser mirrors, and a neat array of blouses and trousers with floral embroidery(Min’s things). Otherwise, there was also a washstand with another small mirror, a desk and one chair slightly askew and away from the desk. On the desk are several stacks of books, and an open notebook with a nearby quill and ink pot. There was a lone unlit lamp also on the desk gilded in gold, as well as several gold gilded wall lamps also unlit around the room.
Sighing softly as Min settled back to comfortable sleep, he stared back up at the bland whitewashed ceiling above him and thought about the schools he had patroned. So many new ideas and inventions were springing up and with traveling prevalent they all spread to the world almost as fast as the ideas can be thought up. This would hopefully lead to a golden age for the world, and his schools were even branching off on their own into new learning institutes. These alone seemed to keep the peace between all the nations. Rand couldn’t tell if he was trying to be modest or humble. Yes he patroned and started the first few schools, but it was not all him coming up with any of the ideas and inventions, many of which had become marvels in and of themselves. Transportation, communication, education These would be left behind and he would be known for that as well as the other.
Breaking the world to make it whole, and his victory with that world’s armies at the last battle. He fought the dark one while the armies of all the nations fought the shadowspawn and darkfriends and dreadlords. Despite everything against him, including it seemed sometimes even the creator, he not only won the battle, but he survived it, he survived it and had a nice long life. The world was at peace, headed to a golden age which he would get credit for, and so Rand was happy. His eyes closed and his thoughts grew that sort of muffled feeling they get just as they start turning into dreams.
PAIN! Rand knew pain, he was no stranger to hurts, especially from a half healed old wound in his side, but that was not the same thing right now. For some reason panic started rising up in him, this was something new, this was something worse. A sharp pain again, in his chest, his body wildly spasmed up kicking his sleeping wife awake.
“Ow you bloody tall buffoon, if you think you can kick me out of bed you have another thing …” Min trailed off as another spasm of pain racked through Rand. Her face contorting with fear as she watched him clutching his chest nearly double over with the pain spasm. He tried to tell her he would be alright, but all that came out was a groaning grunt. He tried lifting his hand to show her it would be alright, but he couldn’t get it to move. Suddenly a hand hit him in his face, it was his hand. He couldn’t feel his hand or his arm. Fear started creeping in as another spasm of pain caused him to let out another groan and clutch at his chest with this hand he couldn’t feel.
“Creator shine his light on me, of course you would choose to die when you’re with me.” Min started shouting hysterically. “For the love of light you bloody wool head, you hang on until I can get Aviendha to come heal you, she’s not far, just hold on damn you.”
Rand vaguely had an impression of Min running towards and out the door. Another spasm of pain, except somehow this was less. He knew it should hurt just as much, but it didn’t. He must have found the void so it wouldn’t hurt as much, that was it. Rand thought about his third and final wife Aviendha, how she would likely come in to find him as healthy as a bull and upset his stomachache disturbed her wise one’s practice. Stomachache? Wasn’t it his chest that was hurting him? Another very small spasm, yes its his chest, but he was also feeling decidedly nauseous too, and that was the greatest issue right? Sleep was all he needed, he would sleep, and everything would be fine in the morning, tomorrow he had to get up early to sheer the sheep.
The void completely surrounds and envelops Rand. As he fades away he hears a sinister voice in his head, “YOU WON THIS ROUND DRAGON REBORN BUT WE WILL COME FACE TO FACE AGAIN” The dark one, what, again? No, the dark one is dead, am I dead, wake up you light blinded fool. There was nothing but the void, not even the light of saiadin could be seen. Rand listened as hard as he could, he thought he heard something, something almost familiar. There it was again, soft but rhythmic, sounding not exactly far, but muffled as if listening through water. Thump Thump and it hit him, that’s the sound of a heartbeat, but who’s heartbeat his? Sleep, that’s what he needed, a really good nights sleep and he would feel better in the morning. Rand drifted off into a dreamless sleep listening to the heartbeat, Thump Thump.
Thus did the dragon reborn die after seeing the end of one age turned into the beginning of another. The people of the land wept at his passing, they swore they would remember him forever and always. Time however is not a kind mistress, when an age is gone it starts to fade from existence, times deeds even people change in the telling’s of the years and centuries. Eventually when the wheel goes round and gives birth to the age again all details have been forgotten, muffled, or contorted.

Mariann Jo’sheen Sedai was old. She had a proper last name once if she could just remember. It had been so long ago since she had last thought of it, a life in the white tower could do that, and Sedai was as good a last name as could be for formality. Just saying Mariann was old was an understatement though, being a woman with a stronger channeling ability, and having sworn on all 8 Life Oath Rods, a prerequisite to becoming Amyrlin of the tower, that she even has any grey hair showing means she must be well past 800 years old, and to show the amount of age she did it must be closer to past 900 years. She was still sharp in mind mostly, at least anything from the last 100 years or so she could recall as sharp as if it happened yesterday. Had it really been longer than a hundred years since she last though of her family name, having long lasted past the last of her lineage, her family long gone or married into others.
She thought even harder surly she had been at her last relative’s funeral, when was it, it was a great aunt she remembered, and the surname was …, she thought really hard. She was in the Amyrlin’s bedchamber reserved for the current leader of the white tower. That said like most of the past Amyrlins before her she kept the bedroom nice and simple. The single window held a cooling fan with right below it a heater coil. The other wall held a closed door which led into her bathroom, the next wall holding another door leading out of the bedchamber into the office of her role. The last wall held the only other furniture besides the plain brown four poster bed she was laying on. A white nightstand with built in mirror and matching white clothed chair. The bathroom was large and would hold her wardrobe of clothes along with the indoor plumbing necessities.
Mariann thought back to each of the eight oaths she took on the life rods, trying to remember which one she had last taken when she attended her aunt’s funeral. Small cylindrical devices no longer than her arm, when you take an oath on one your life actually increases by a standard lifetime or roughly 100 years depending on the person, those stronger in the one power given slightly more. Really giving any oath at all would do for the increasing your life, the only requirement being you channel Saiadar while making your oath and someone else that can also channel does so to activate it. However each specific Ajah required you to take a specific oath, and the eighth oath rod was solely for those like her who have taken the Amyrlin seat after having have pledged on the other seven, again a specific oath.
“I will say no word that is untrue”. Eight oath rods, and eight times this is spoken to ensure you do not offer a false oath, as if anyone would think of lying so many truth seekers everywhere.
“I will faithfully serve as Amyrlin to all of my children for the rest of my days”. The Amyrlin seat was a lifelong position and would not open again until her death. Serve all her children, it was said that the ancient honorific Amyrlin meant something like mother to all, it means that she was a servant to everyone in the world, matter it not she was the leader of the white tower. That first part about serving faithfully as Amyrlin could leave some wiggle room depending on how one viewed the title of Amyrlin, the last however left no wiggle room for anything.
“I will treat everyone with fairness and justice as is prescribed by the dai’shan aiel of the grey tower and the Aes Sedai code of ethics”. Those were binding stronger than time itself. The grey tower first because only the dai’shan aiel more than anyone can decide what is fair and right, they were and are the original truth seekers among so much more. You would also have as much power to reach the moon as you would to get the Aes Sedai code of ethics changed. First it would take a proposal from either of the leaders from the white or black tower. Either the Amyrlin of the white tower or the Pope of the black tower has to make a suggested change, which then needs to go through each Ajah/Faction and receive 90% approval, then it gets sent to the other tower to make its way up through the chains until it finally ends with the other towers leader. If it passes all of that it gets sent to the grey tower for approval again 90% before finally appearing before the first servant leader of the grey tower for final approval, and at any stage it can be stopped if it doesn’t pass.
That wasn’t it though, no she was not Amyrlin at her aunt’s funeral. Before then was the Blue ajah, which was closer. But still too recent, what level was she? The sleeping shift she wore was one of the new fads called a one piece. It was literally one garment that covered both legs and torso. It had several convenient buttons for keeping it on or taking it off. It was grey cotton all one solid color, and it was bunching up at the knees. Mariann distractedly Jerked it back into position. Her thoughts drifted too far back to when she had her very first foretelling which was that she would one day become Amyrlin seat. She was a young girl of only 16 years, and she knew without a doubt. It came in bursts though and it was not something she could control.
This vision came on stronger than any she had ever encountered before. So strong it jerked her body stiff as a board and slammed her down thankfully into the bed she was already laying on. An Evil shadow of a man, a giant taller than mountains, and blacker than the darkest shadows on a moonless night, peering down at the world smiling, that smile turning your blood to jelly and freezing you in place with its ill intent. A great serpentine beast came flying from the other side of the world, Long and scales glimmering like diamonds with talons made of pure gold but sharper than the sharpest knife, fire trailing from its partially open moth off its gleaming sharp teeth. It was equally large as the malevolent shadow man and flew on giant tornado causing wings straight at the other. They fought a great battle against each other, but in doing so caused so many deaths as swaths of their destruction ravaged the world. A flash of light and Mariann was staring at the grey tower as if just a few hundred yards away. She started walking towards it only to watch in horror and bewilderment as the tower before her cracked and collapsed as if a mirror or glass shattered. Another flash of light and she saw a baby boy, but he aged so fast right before her eyes until he died as an old man. She couldn’t remember much, but she knew deep down that he was in some way related to the other visions and this man, for it was definitely a man, was likely the cause of them.
Opening her eyes to stare at the brown four poster cloth above her and remembering every detail about her vision she distractedly spoke to herself . “Goshin is my sur name and I last heard it at Aunt Maragel Goshin’s funeral while I was at the green level”. She shook her head, that wasn’t important anymore if it ever really was. She quickly sat up in her woolen one piece swinging her feet over the side of the bed and hurried to her nightstand. Sitting in the chair she reached in one drawer to get paper and another to get an ink pointer. Channeling a single small strand of fire into a swinging glass bulb above her bed brought light into the room. She hastily started scribbling down every detail from her vision, she was grateful she always kept ink and paper nearby to do so.

Mr. Telamon was a nervous wreck while sitting in the hospital waiting room. He somehow knew, sensed something was wrong with his wife’s delivery. Dai’shan aiel were everywhere; as were nurses, patients or close kin waiting, Every once in a while a doctor’s assistant would come out and call a name ushering someone to see a doctor. Really bad cases would be taken in through a separate entrance known only to the healers. It didn’t matter, and he got confirmation as those doors opened up and not the assistant, but the doctor who had taken his wife looked around the room first at the dai’shan, then at him. A group of three of the white clad figures started moving towards him even before the doctor did. They felt his grief or rather the grief he was going to feel, even before he himself felt it. That and they knew it would take three of them to calm him down. Tears were streaming from his eyes before the doctor even started speaking.
“There was a complication during the pregnancy, your son is ok, your wife however did not make it, I’m so sorry. She did manage to tell us a name before she passed. Lews, Lews Therin after her father. Is that what you would like on the birth certificate?”
Baby Lews’s father numbly nodded, and the doctor walked away as uncontrollable sobs started emanating from the man. The three dai’shan aiel circled around him arm in arm and started singing a song of comfort and peace and mourning.
***
Rand Al’thor was asleep soundly when something woke him up, but he couldn’t tell what or where, or even anything for that matter. It was like the void, nothingness, but a sound, not a feeling, a heartbeat. The heartbeat was much faster than it was and suddenly something pushed him hard in the head. Go away he thought I’m trying to sleep. However the push came back stronger than before, this time managing to flip him upside down, upside down?, he could tell direction in this floating nothingness. Really awake now Rand tried to remember, remember?, remember what? Again the push and he was being squeezed to death and suddenly he remembered something about the dark one. A voice, a word, a sentence, the dark one wanted him dead. Was this the dark one trying to kill him, again push, again very tight squeeze, this time a light as if from a tunnel. It wasn’t the only light though, Rand went to the real void, and he saw it, Saiadin. He reached out with all his might to grab it and it came like a flood. He couldn’t control it, he had no strength, and his memory was foggy, he just expelled it to get out the other light and away from the pushing and death squeeze.
As Saiadin left him so did more and more memories, he tried to shout that he killed the dark one, sealed the bore so it could never be open. All that came out of his mouth was a scream. No blood and fire no I did this already, I won, I’m done. And with that last thought Rand Al’thor fell deep deep asleep into the furthest recesses of the brain. Lews took a deep breath and let out another scream wanting his mother or anyone to come pick him up and sooth his little soul.

The dragon is born!

Chapter 1
16 years later
The wheel of time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the fifth age by some and the first by others. An age yet to come, an age long past, a dark icy wind arose from about as far north as you can get. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the wheel of time. But it was a beginning.
A steam vent in an icy mountain let out a puff of sulfur like particles riding the wind. High and fast the dark tainted wind rode across the Nym fields, high enough to escape the notice of the Nym, ever vigilant in their desire to protect the world. Over the borderlands of mankind, given graciously by the Nym when mankind needs more space to grow. Still high in the sky the dark wind blew through wild wilderness where only the Nym, the Ogier, the dai’shan aiel, and the Aes Sedai were allowed to travel if at some risk. The wind started descending as it traveled into the warmer southern air. Up ahead in the distance was a magnificently large tower made of stone black like obsidian, but much stronger. Along the northern wall of this Black tower were several windows, most open hoping to catch some of the cool breeze which it did nicely.
It was into one of these windows the dark wind blew, a classroom, though filled only with boys. The tainted breeze flew around several students, all dressed in black school uniforms and sitting at wooden desks on little rickety stool like chairs with just the barest of backrest. The flow of air flew so close to the face of one student he gave a start, finally going up the next nearby student’s nose just as he took in a deep breath.
Lews gave such a start at the intrusion, and he stood up sneezing loudly, the rancid smell still strong in his nose. Taller than most of his peers he certainly stood over everyone’s head while they were all sitting down.
“What are you doing, you look like a dork, hurry and sit down before anyone notices.” His best friend [Ishamael]() tried to warn him. However, it was already too late for that, most of the class was now looking at him which made him self conscious even if the women all said he looked like a dream. Worse, the teacher at the front of the class in a very similar black colored uniform was looking at him expectedly.
“Yes Lews, do you think you know the answer?” To Lews’s horror he realized he had been spending most of the class in a daydream about being the most powerful weaver ever. It was important that distinction, woman channel men weave. Saiadar and Saiadin, two halves of the same whole, both apart of the one power the true source. Everyone could learn to use it, or at least almost everyone. The dai’shan don’t channel or weave for all the power of their songs, not one of them it’s a law to join among other things. Other people might be so weak in the power it should be they don’t have it at all, there are objects which can amplify or temporarily give someone use of the one power, those with so little power that resort to using these transcognative devices were often socially outcast. Transmogs they were called when someone was being nice.
That didn’t help him now, he was in history class, and definitely not studying Transmogs. Lews desperately wracked his brain trying to remember what they were discussing. The teacher’s slight smile was starting to droop to a slight frown. Nym’s that was what they were discussing, what about Nym’s? Desperately looking around for some hope, he finally remembered. It was a question about the first Nym, what was his name?
“Goak him jim knee?” Lews answered with a rightfully apologetic look on his face. Sighing the teacher said “close, Oakhimgimee. At least he was close!” The teacher got progressively louder while giving the rest of the class an evil eye. The laughter that had started quickly quieted. Just at that particular moment a loud bell decided to ring calling an end to that class period.
As the other students started standing up, talking, and starting to head for the door, the teacher weaved a small weave that produced a louder voice reminding the class they had the test coming up at the end of the week.
Lews slowly grabbed his bag and followed the steady stream of students leaving the class.

Age of Legends
Prologue(Death and birth of a dragon)

Rand was happy, there wasn’t much else he could say about how he felt right there at that specific moment. Lying there in bed wearing nothing but his small cloths and a silk shirt half buttoned. Beside him sleeping so peacefully was one of his beautiful wives, Elmindreada, though she hated that name and preferred Min. Thinking back on many long years of peace and growth, yes he was fated to break the world, and he had. Though the prophecies never mentioned the creation and growth he would also leave behind. The creation of the black tower and the worldwide acceptance of male Aes Sedai, his crown and epitome of success the cleansing of saiadin. That and the discovery of ancient knowledge to confirm anyone should be able to learn to touch at least a small part of the true source, at least most people could. Those two things alone would have vast and far-reaching consequences for the good. The covers beside him shifted as his wife turned over in her sleep showing him her short curly hair. Thoughts drifting again to convincing the Aeil and Tu’athan(the tinkers he thought fondly still) to make peace, them taking it a step further and settling in the two rivers. The tinkers, the wondering people and followers of the way of the leaf, coming to terms with the Aiel spear wielders and settling in one place, that one place being his boyhood homeland. Perrin was there, as well as all the Emond fielders, what’s more they set him up like some king and started calling the place Manetheren.
Mat even came back and settled down to retire with the remainder of his family after his wife the empress died. Rand frowned because that wasn’t a happy memory, her battle with some kind of internal growth that even the best healers couldn’t fix, it was slow and painful. She was tough and knew enough to put things in order so there wouldn’t be any war for succession, but after her death and with no children not adopted, Mat just had no pull to stay. He came back and Perrin gave him an estate where he spent the rest of his days carousing in taverns even if no one would play dice with him again. The rest of his days were not much however, less than two years after his wife Mattrim died of a heart attack. The same strange fox head medallion he wore around his neck that had saved him so many times from enemy power wielders, due to its powers of absorbing any of the one power used against the wearer, was strangely the main cause of his death as there had been an Aes Sedai capable of healing close by. Rand wondered what ever became of that medallion. Trying to shift his thoughts back to happier things he thought of Elayne another of his wives and queen of the region this new “kingdom” was growing. Or at least she was. Having not one but two kingdoms to run was taxing her, especially when one played that awful game of houses so much, as if it were breathing. She actually willingly gave that area to Perrin, that and more besides. “Having friends at your back, especially friends who know they owe you can only help.”, he remembered her saying when he asked her.
He laughed remembering how her cute golden-haired little face grew so stern while she rounded on him for not caring about his friends and shouldn’t they also get something for all the help they provided at the last battle. Of course, it also had nothing to do with being such close friends with Perrin’s wife Fail. Manetheren though, when asked Perrin just shrugged his huge shoulders saying one name is as good as any, and it was the one that everyone agreed on.
Min groaned softly beside him still wrapped in the silken bedding spread. His laugh seemed to have disturbed her, he quickly stifled it and glared at the lavish bedroom they slept in as if that were the fault for his mirth. Lying on top of the silken covers because he never quite got used to sleeping on feather mattresses. It really was a lavish bedroom, filled with rugs and wall coverings, paintings, not one but two large dressers with mirrors, a matching and equally large wardrobe, currently opened showing two other mirrors on the inside of the doors, smaller than the dresser mirrors, and a neat array of blouses and trousers with floral embroidery(Min’s things). Otherwise, there was also a washstand with another small mirror, a desk and one chair slightly askew and away from the desk. On the desk are several stacks of books, and an open notebook with a nearby quill and ink pot. There was a lone unlit lamp also on the desk gilded in gold, as well as several gold gilded wall lamps also unlit around the room.
Sighing softly as Min settled back to comfortable sleep, he stared back up at the bland whitewashed ceiling above him and thought about the schools he had patroned. So many new ideas and inventions were springing up and with traveling prevalent they all spread to the world almost as fast as the ideas can be thought up. This would hopefully lead to a golden age for the world, and his schools were even branching off on their own into new learning institutes. These alone seemed to keep the peace between all the nations. Rand couldn’t tell if he was trying to be modest or humble. Yes he patroned and started the first few schools, but it was not all him coming up with any of the ideas and inventions, many of which had become marvels in and of themselves. Transportation, communication, education These would be left behind and he would be known for that as well as the other.
Breaking the world to make it whole, and his victory with that world’s armies at the last battle. He fought the dark one while the armies of all the nations fought the shadowspawn and darkfriends and dreadlords. Despite everything against him, including it seemed sometimes even the creator, he not only won the battle, but he survived it, he survived it and had a nice long life. The world was at peace, headed to a golden age which he would get credit for, and so Rand was happy. His eyes closed and his thoughts grew that sort of muffled feeling they get just as they start turning into dreams.
PAIN! Rand knew pain, he was no stranger to hurts, especially from a half healed old wound in his side, but that was not the same thing right now. For some reason panic started rising up in him, this was something new, this was something worse. A sharp pain again, in his chest, his body wildly spasmed up kicking his sleeping wife awake.
“Ow you bloody tall buffoon, if you think you can kick me out of bed you have another thing …” Min trailed off as another spasm of pain racked through Rand. Her face contorting with fear as she watched him clutching his chest nearly double over with the pain spasm. He tried to tell her he would be alright, but all that came out was a groaning grunt. He tried lifting his hand to show her it would be alright, but he couldn’t get it to move. Suddenly a hand hit him in his face, it was his hand. He couldn’t feel his hand or his arm. Fear started creeping in as another spasm of pain caused him to let out another groan and clutch at his chest with this hand he couldn’t feel.
“Creator shine his light on me, of course you would choose to die when you’re with me.” Min started shouting hysterically. “For the love of light you bloody wool head, you hang on until I can get Aviendha to come heal you, she’s not far, just hold on damn you.”
Rand vaguely had an impression of Min running towards and out the door. Another spasm of pain, except somehow this was less. He knew it should hurt just as much, but it didn’t. He must have found the void so it wouldn’t hurt as much, that was it. Rand thought about his third and final wife Aviendha, how she would likely come in to find him as healthy as a bull and upset his stomachache disturbed her wise one’s practice. Stomachache? Wasn’t it his chest that was hurting him? Another very small spasm, yes its his chest, but he was also feeling decidedly nauseous too, and that was the greatest issue right? Sleep was all he needed, he would sleep, and everything would be fine in the morning, tomorrow he had to get up early to sheer the sheep.
The void completely surrounds and envelops Rand. As he fades away he hears a sinister voice in his head, “YOU WON THIS ROUND DRAGON REBORN BUT WE WILL COME FACE TO FACE AGAIN” The dark one, what, again? No, the dark one is dead, am I dead, wake up you light blinded fool. There was nothing but the void, not even the light of saiadin could be seen. Rand listened as hard as he could, he thought he heard something, something almost familiar. There it was again, soft but rhythmic, sounding not exactly far, but muffled as if listening through water. Thump Thump and it hit him, that’s the sound of a heartbeat, but who’s heartbeat his? Sleep, that’s what he needed, a really good nights sleep and he would feel better in the morning. Rand drifted off into a dreamless sleep listening to the heartbeat, Thump Thump.
Thus did the dragon reborn die after seeing the end of one age turned into the beginning of another. The people of the land wept at his passing, they swore they would remember him forever and always. Time however is not a kind mistress, when an age is gone it starts to fade from existence, times deeds even people change in the telling’s of the years and centuries. Eventually when the wheel goes round and gives birth to the age again all details have been forgotten, muffled, or contorted.

Mariann Jo’sheen Sedai was old. She had a proper last name once if she could just remember. It had been so long ago since she had last thought of it, a life in the white tower could do that, and Sedai was as good a last name as could be for formality. Just saying Mariann was old was an understatement though, being a woman with a stronger channeling ability, and having sworn on all 8 Life Oath Rods, a prerequisite to becoming Amyrlin of the tower, that she even has any grey hair showing means she must be well past 800 years old, and to show the amount of age she did it must be closer to past 900 years. She was still sharp in mind mostly, at least anything from the last 100 years or so she could recall as sharp as if it happened yesterday. Had it really been longer than a hundred years since she last though of her family name, having long lasted past the last of her lineage, her family long gone or married into others.
She thought even harder surly she had been at her last relative’s funeral, when was it, it was a great aunt she remembered, and the surname was …, she thought really hard. She was in the Amyrlin’s bedchamber reserved for the current leader of the white tower. That said like most of the past Amyrlins before her she kept the bedroom nice and simple. The single window held a cooling fan with right below it a heater coil. The other wall held a closed door which led into her bathroom, the next wall holding another door leading out of the bedchamber into the office of her role. The last wall held the only other furniture besides the plain brown four poster bed she was laying on. A white nightstand with built in mirror and matching white clothed chair. The bathroom was large and would hold her wardrobe of clothes along with the indoor plumbing necessities.
Mariann thought back to each of the eight oaths she took on the life rods, trying to remember which one she had last taken when she attended her aunt’s funeral. Small cylindrical devices no longer than her arm, when you take an oath on one your life actually increases by a standard lifetime or roughly 100 years depending on the person, those stronger in the one power given slightly more. Really giving any oath at all would do for the increasing your life, the only requirement being you channel Saiadar while making your oath and someone else that can also channel does so to activate it. However each specific Ajah required you to take a specific oath, and the eighth oath rod was solely for those like her who have taken the Amyrlin seat after having have pledged on the other seven, again a specific oath.
“I will say no word that is untrue”. Eight oath rods, and eight times this is spoken to ensure you do not offer a false oath, as if anyone would think of lying so many truth seekers everywhere.
“I will faithfully serve as Amyrlin to all of my children for the rest of my days”. The Amyrlin seat was a lifelong position and would not open again until her death. Serve all her children, it was said that the ancient honorific Amyrlin meant something like mother to all, it means that she was a servant to everyone in the world, matter it not she was the leader of the white tower. That first part about serving faithfully as Amyrlin could leave some wiggle room depending on how one viewed the title of Amyrlin, the last however left no wiggle room for anything.
“I will treat everyone with fairness and justice as is prescribed by the dai’shan aiel of the grey tower and the Aes Sedai code of ethics”. Those were binding stronger than time itself. The grey tower first because only the dai’shan aiel more than anyone can decide what is fair and right, they were and are the original truth seekers among so much more. You would also have as much power to reach the moon as you would to get the Aes Sedai code of ethics changed. First it would take a proposal from either of the leaders from the white or black tower. Either the Amyrlin of the white tower or the Pope of the black tower has to make a suggested change, which then needs to go through each Ajah/Faction and receive 90% approval, then it gets sent to the other tower to make its way up through the chains until it finally ends with the other towers leader. If it passes all of that it gets sent to the grey tower for approval again 90% before finally appearing before the first servant leader of the grey tower for final approval, and at any stage it can be stopped if it doesn’t pass.
That wasn’t it though, no she was not Amyrlin at her aunt’s funeral. Before then was the Blue ajah, which was closer. But still too recent, what level was she? The sleeping shift she wore was one of the new fads called a one piece. It was literally one garment that covered both legs and torso. It had several convenient buttons for keeping it on or taking it off. It was grey cotton all one solid color, and it was bunching up at the knees. Mariann distractedly Jerked it back into position. Her thoughts drifted too far back to when she had her very first foretelling which was that she would one day become Amyrlin seat. She was a young girl of only 16 years, and she knew without a doubt. It came in bursts though and it was not something she could control.
This vision came on stronger than any she had ever encountered before. So strong it jerked her body stiff as a board and slammed her down thankfully into the bed she was already laying on. An Evil shadow of a man, a giant taller than mountains, and blacker than the darkest shadows on a moonless night, peering down at the world smiling, that smile turning your blood to jelly and freezing you in place with its ill intent. A great serpentine beast came flying from the other side of the world, Long and scales glimmering like diamonds with talons made of pure gold but sharper than the sharpest knife, fire trailing from its partially open moth off its gleaming sharp teeth. It was equally large as the malevolent shadow man and flew on giant tornado causing wings straight at the other. They fought a great battle against each other, but in doing so caused so many deaths as swaths of their destruction ravaged the world. A flash of light and Mariann was staring at the grey tower as if just a few hundred yards away. She started walking towards it only to watch in horror and bewilderment as the tower before her cracked and collapsed as if a mirror or glass shattered. Another flash of light and she saw a baby boy, but he aged so fast right before her eyes until he died as an old man. She couldn’t remember much, but she knew deep down that he was in some way related to the other visions and this man, for it was definitely a man, was likely the cause of them.
Opening her eyes to stare at the brown four poster cloth above her and remembering every detail about her vision she distractedly spoke to herself . “Goshin is my sur name and I last heard it at Aunt Maragel Goshin’s funeral while I was at the green level”. She shook her head, that wasn’t important anymore if it ever really was. She quickly sat up in her woolen one piece swinging her feet over the side of the bed and hurried to her nightstand. Sitting in the chair she reached in one drawer to get paper and another to get an ink pointer. Channeling a single small strand of fire into a swinging glass bulb above her bed brought light into the room. She hastily started scribbling down every detail from her vision, she was grateful she always kept ink and paper nearby to do so.

Mr. Telamon was a nervous wreck while sitting in the hospital waiting room. He somehow knew, sensed something was wrong with his wife’s delivery. Dai’shan aiel were everywhere; as were nurses, patients or close kin waiting, Every once in a while a doctor’s assistant would come out and call a name ushering someone to see a doctor. Really bad cases would be taken in through a separate entrance known only to the healers. It didn’t matter, and he got confirmation as those doors opened up and not the assistant, but the doctor who had taken his wife looked around the room first at the dai’shan, then at him. A group of three of the white clad figures started moving towards him even before the doctor did. They felt his grief or rather the grief he was going to feel, even before he himself felt it. That and they knew it would take three of them to calm him down. Tears were streaming from his eyes before the doctor even started speaking.
“There was a complication during the pregnancy, your son is ok, your wife however did not make it, I’m so sorry. She did manage to tell us a name before she passed. Lews, Lews Therin after her father. Is that what you would like on the birth certificate?”
Baby Lews’s father numbly nodded, and the doctor walked away as uncontrollable sobs started emanating from the man. The three dai’shan aiel circled around him arm in arm and started singing a song of comfort and peace and mourning.
***
Rand Al’thor was asleep soundly when something woke him up, but he couldn’t tell what or where, or even anything for that matter. It was like the void, nothingness, but a sound, not a feeling, a heartbeat. The heartbeat was much faster than it was and suddenly something pushed him hard in the head. Go away he thought I’m trying to sleep. However the push came back stronger than before, this time managing to flip him upside down, upside down?, he could tell direction in this floating nothingness. Really awake now Rand tried to remember, remember?, remember what? Again the push and he was being squeezed to death and suddenly he remembered something about the dark one. A voice, a word, a sentence, the dark one wanted him dead. Was this the dark one trying to kill him, again push, again very tight squeeze, this time a light as if from a tunnel. It wasn’t the only light though, Rand went to the real void, and he saw it, Saiadin. He reached out with all his might to grab it and it came like a flood. He couldn’t control it, he had no strength, and his memory was foggy, he just expelled it to get out the other light and away from the pushing and death squeeze.
As Saiadin left him so did more and more memories, he tried to shout that he killed the dark one, sealed the bore so it could never be open. All that came out of his mouth was a scream. No blood and fire no I did this already, I won, I’m done. And with that last thought Rand Al’thor fell deep deep asleep into the furthest recesses of the brain. Lews took a deep breath and let out another scream wanting his mother or anyone to come pick him up and sooth his little soul.

The dragon is born!

Chapter 1
16 years later
The wheel of time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the fifth age by some and the first by others. An age yet to come, an age long past, a dark icy wind arose from about as far north as you can get. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the wheel of time. But it was a beginning.
A steam vent in an icy mountain let out a puff of sulfur like particles riding the wind. High and fast the dark tainted wind rode across the Nym fields, high enough to escape the notice of the Nym, ever vigilant in their desire to protect the world. Over the borderlands of mankind, given graciously by the Nym when mankind needs more space to grow. Still high in the sky the dark wind blew through wild wilderness where only the Nym, the Ogier, the dai’shan aiel, and the Aes Sedai were allowed to travel if at some risk. The wind started descending as it traveled into the warmer southern air. Up ahead in the distance was a magnificently large tower made of stone black like obsidian, but much stronger. Along the northern wall of this Black tower were several windows, most open hoping to catch some of the cool breeze which it did nicely.
It was into one of these windows the dark wind blew, a classroom, though filled only with boys. The tainted breeze flew around several students, all dressed in black school uniforms and sitting at wooden desks on little rickety stool like chairs with just the barest of backrest. The flow of air flew so close to the face of one student he gave a start, finally going up the next nearby student’s nose just as he took in a deep breath.
Lews gave such a start at the intrusion, and he stood up sneezing loudly, the rancid smell still strong in his nose. Taller than most of his peers he certainly stood over everyone’s head while they were all sitting down.
“What are you doing, you look like a dork, hurry and sit down before anyone notices.” His best friend [Ishamael]() tried to warn him. However, it was already too late for that, most of the class was now looking at him which made him self conscious even if the women all said he looked like a dream. Worse, the teacher at the front of the class in a very similar black colored uniform was looking at him expectedly.
“Yes Lews, do you think you know the answer?” To Lews’s horror he realized he had been spending most of the class in a daydream about being the most powerful weaver ever. It was important that distinction, woman channel men weave. Saiadar and Saiadin, two halves of the same whole, both apart of the one power the true source. Everyone could learn to use it, or at least almost everyone. The dai’shan don’t channel or weave for all the power of their songs, not one of them it’s a law to join among other things. Other people might be so weak in the power it should be they don’t have it at all, there are objects which can amplify or temporarily give someone use of the one power, those with so little power that resort to using these transcognative devices were often socially outcast. Transmogs they were called when someone was being nice.
That didn’t help him now, he was in history class, and definitely not studying Transmogs. Lews desperately wracked his brain trying to remember what they were discussing. The teacher’s slight smile was starting to droop to a slight frown. Nym’s that was what they were discussing, what about Nym’s? Desperately looking around for some hope, he finally remembered. It was a question about the first Nym, what was his name?
“Goak him jim knee?” Lews answered with a rightfully apologetic look on his face. Sighing the teacher said “close, Oakhimgimee. At least he was close!” The teacher got progressively louder while giving the rest of the class an evil eye. The laughter that had started quickly quieted. Just at that particular moment a loud bell decided to ring calling an end to that class period.
As the other students started standing up, talking, and starting to head for the door, the teacher weaved a small weave that produced a louder voice reminding the class they had the test coming up at the end of the week.
Lews slowly grabbed his bag and followed the steady stream of students leaving the class.

Hey, this is my first time posting on this reddit page. I just wanted to introduce myself before giving a full on theory in relation to my thoughts and predictions for any rdr content. I have been thinking, what if rdr2 had a dlc? How would rockstar do it right? There probably won't be a dlc or anytime soon so I came up with a storyline for the dlc in my opinion. Thank you and let's get started
It should include Sadie Trelawny and Charles within a switch character feature like in gta5. Sadie is deep into bounty hunting now, she is more quiet, living in the wetlands of Brazil and bounty hunting is paying the bills. But she is still thinking of the loved people she left behind, anyway, Sadie meets a nice young teenage guy who is also a bounty hunter and they are working for the same sheriffs around, let's say he is 'Fred'. Fred reminds Sadie of Arthur or at least a younger but wiser version, and this interests Sadie more into Fred, but she doesn't know why, Sadie is more quiet and Unsocial so why does she care? From dialogue, we know what her and Fred and thinking, there is a gap that needs to be filled with trust. One of the biggest criminal outlaws in Brazil who is let's say 'pedro' has captured a series of hostages and is holding them in a bunker in Southern Brazil, one of those being Fred, but sadie is in northern Brazil and it would be a really long journey, Sadie is scrambling and confused on what to do , if I save him will he just end up like everybody else I ever loved? She doesn't Trust herself to keep him safe, she agrees with a sheriff that she is only doing detective work but deep inside she needs to help him. While questioning one gang member in particular, he sees clear through Sadie and tells her that he knows who she really wants to save and why she's afraid, exposing the idgaf persona Sadie had. Sadie is angry and brutally beats this guy till he tells her what she wants , but she doesn't want to hear what she needs, he is beaten to a pulp and finally states where the bunker might be, and adds that there may be multiple bunkers. Anyway, Sadie thinks alot about what he said and she questions why she's even so interested in Fred. She then remembers Arthur, which brings a side of weakness in Sadie, crying in her rented hotel rembering Arthur's kindness and sacrifice. She figures out why she's so interested and finally decides to go out and look for Fred and the hostages herself. She asks, what would Arthur do? I'm doing this for him, is what she is saying to stop the truth from coming any longer. The truth is Sadie needs another 'Arthur' in her life, she can't stop holding onto him cuz she scares at losing him again, but she can't try again at loving people so she hides behind heroic personas and excuses to escape while on her journey. But she runs into Pedro in a garden party at a palace and they talk for long, Pedro is a parallel of Sadie, They are both bloody and brutal but Pedro at least understands what he wants and what he needs, he's wealthy but not spoiled with greed, he moves smart and kind. Anyone in his way is killed immediately, ok this is bout to get a lil pg18 so keep touch. Sadie decides to trick Pedro into giving info on the plan, with ultimate guilt, she flirts with him and they end up in a private bedroom upstairs the palace. He finally admits while succumbed in Sadie's seduction, funny thing is, this is WAY out of character for Sadie right? Because she's scrambling with emotions and truthfully she would do anything to find Fred, but she says that she'll do anything for her job and stopping Pedro. In the admist of seduction, lawman and police break into the hotel room and arrest Pedro immediately. Of course, Sadie is put to interrogate Pedro, this is where we finally get a hint of Pedro and Sadie's dynamic. Sadie is disgusted by Pedro's accused actions but she is also deeply disgusted by what she had to do to get here. anyway, Pedro is seen externally as a mob and rider killer with dark thoughts , internally as a smart and thoughtful man with a secret and deceitful truth, hiding behind a persona he tries to believe in, just like Sadie. They are both fighting a battle. Sadie believes she is saving them for her honor, but truthfully she is really saving Fred. As Sadie gets closer to saving Fred the more difficult it gets to hide. Before the climatic battle, Sadie and a few other lawmen find the final bunker and see amber disguised as a hostage tied up. Sadie sees through it and just loses it, she takes one look at beats him to death while screaming why he is hiding behind his true self. This is Sadie talking to herself. The law men are mortified and traumatized and do not speak to Sadie for the rest of the search. When they find the hostages, Sadie scrambles looking for Fred but doesn't find him, one lawman suggests that he is in Pedro's main house. They find the main house and funnily enough he is right, Fred is held hostage by Pedro. Once they raid Pedro's room they capture Pedro but he reveals dynamite strapped on Fred's back which is lighting from the door handle in a long line. Saide freaks out and tears the dynamite just as it is about to blow and throws it away but accidentally throws it near the lawmen but sadie doesn't seem to care, only if Fred is safe, see Fred is like Arthur, but Arthur is HIM, so Fred can never be an 'Arthur' but he can be Arthur emotionally for Sadie to move forward. Sadie and Fred escape the mansion in the big climactic gunfight where they fight together and walk of into the distance with dead bodies all around them, such as like the red dead revolver ending. Sadie has come out, while not romantically, Sadie and Fred are great friends and Sadie gains faith in society and love again, not romantically lol.
Okay let's switch to Charles. Canada, btw it is spring season so it is really cold and snowy. Charles is more quiet and older but he still has a really close friend of his, his best friend, Victoria, a woman he met on the coast of Canada when he arrived. They have a really great friendship and fit together perfectly, they've been friends for a year and have bonded together really well. The opening scene should have Charles and Victoria chatting to show Charles character when he's with and without her. So basically, these guys for really well and the small town they live in, like Jackson in TLOU2 , knows that they could make a great couple. Suddenly, an agent pops up and tells Charles in a cafe that Victoria is a convincted felon and criminal of the country, but so far, Victoria's character is easily likeable by her importance to Charles, we mostly hate micah cuz what he is to Arthur. Same dynamic here, if Charles loves her, easily likeable, but she is also a genuinely good person, so just like Charles we are confused and refuse that fact because, this agent let's say is 'micheal' Mike seems very greedy and rude in their first encounter. But all of a sudden, Victoria disappears, and cannot be found near their town. So now both Charles and Mike are fighting the same goal, but their is internal conflict their, because mike represents everything Charles hate but Is also everything Charles would take a life for a decade back. He is like Dutch and Charles seeing that questions, if Dutch was that manipulative, then why isn't Mike? Because he didn't seem to be confident is saying that Victoria is a criminal in fact with very little research. This builds suspicion of motive in the antagonist which intrigues us into mike and his motive. As Charles searches for Victoria, he constantly thinks of Dutch and had encounters with Mike that even us the player cna see Dutch inside him, bringing up the plan meme and in one encounter, Mike and Charles fight, but Charles turns this guy into a pancake and flattens him. But Mike seems happy and just walks away. Okay lemme skip forward a bit, Charles keeps encoutering with Mike and keeps getting closer to Victoria until he finally finds Victoria in a jail cell in a sheriff's office in the middle of nowhere at night. He busts her out with his sheir strength and breaks the rusted bars, but Victoria seems to avoid Charles and is distancing herself from him. They talk and Charles asks why she is being distant on the horse ride back to the town and just as Victoria is about to say , a long line of trees beside the road begin to start falling and they ride forward dodging the falling trees in the snowy weather, like that scene in the opening fight of gow Ragnarok. They ride fast and eventually stop in an open snow field and looked behind at the fallen trees and even within the fog Charles spots a group of masked gunmen rushes and taking cover on the fallen trees. Charles immediately dismounts and fights of the gunmen while forcing Victoria to ride away into the distance. One last gunman is left and Charles asks why they are attacking him. He refuses but Charles beats him till his admits, turns out it's not just Mike. This is the wider government, spread out across all of north America, and we find out how agent Ross easily tracked down John and reveal that agent ross' glazer after Javier dies is part of this government organization, the Pinkertons remastered. They are all hunting for them and some undercover agents are killing them through love. This is where truth is revealed. We are given cuts to an agent slicing Reverend Swanson's neck in a hallway, a group of male agents grabbing Mary Beth in a restaurant, and one of Pedro's men, the one who sadie tried to interrogate in particular. This make sense as he was trying to get more out of Sadie but failed and was beaten, something that we thought held no purpose as a scene turned out to leave hints when we okay it back. This makes the organization very unlikable which gives a heavily hated antagonist as we see the characters we love get shamed and beaten. Charles and Victoria have a talk after in a rented motel, Victoria admits that Mike was telling her lies about Charles to tarnish his name but seemed very unconfident in saying it and showed evidence by bruises for their fight. So why is he constantly lying? Is he a bad liar? That is what they say. This talk shows the internal view from both sides, Charles wants to have a family with her and Victoria wants to know about his past. Charles is focusing of future while she is focusing on past, in order for them to move forward. Victoria has to love him, but in order to love him, he has to tell her about his past to form trust. They agree to work together to find out about this organization. This creates a fun gaming experience but also story wise it can transform the theme so quickly in game fashion, something only rdr could do. Throughout the search, they get closer and closer to finding out the truth, but also to each other. They form a dynamic with love, trust and teamwork. In the climax, Charles and Victoria meet Mike together for the first time and they are said to kill mike once and for all. Mike is fishing near the Atlantic ocean and they approach him in the fishing hut. They are supposed to find a gun owned by agent milton and hostages. This scene builds tension like the iconic one in Inglorious Bastards. Charles brings up wolves and ravens and their relationship. Which in subtext means Charles and Victoria's relationship, and how they find prey together, which means them finding Mike together. Charles brings up how the wolves and ravens see each other as equal but see prey as lesser, but prey can be whatever they like with teamwork. Charles finally asks if Mike is hiding hostages and Mike says yes. They find the gun and the hostages and as soon as they exit, they find a group of armed suited gunmen at the door and realize that this is a setup. We get a glimpse of a shotgun shell pressed against the door like the glimpse of the Jews in Inglorious Bastards. Charles duels the gunmen and he finally kills without thought, he kills without Mercy and hastily. Charles always says he kills when he needs to, to protect who he loves but he could have easily overpowered these guys, they had jammed guns and all so he could just beta them and run. But he doesn't, he kills them, he takes their lives. This shows he truly loves Victoria, breaking his one rule just to fully assure her safety. But maybe it was also for the hostages safety right? No, he looks at Victoria and just that one look was enough for him to get to killing. The final gunfight ensues and Charles and Victoria are keeping the hut away from the incoming gunmen which gives the player flashbacks to the final John mission in rdr1, building tension and suspicion on what could happen. In the end, Charles kills Mike in a standoff and gets his leg shoot in the process. He passes out and awakes in a warm bed, he looks to his right and sees Victoysnd immediately smiles, but he looks down and sees his leg is Missing. Victoria explains that they had to amputate his leg to avoid infection, Charles seems worried at first, but a simple gesture of putting her hand on his chest is enough to calm him down. The talk they have is admitting something. Finally, they hug and kiss and boomm that's the end
Okay with Trelawny we can move quick cuz this is getting good. Trelawny has always been distant on the gang and he has always despised the way the gang moved believing there is always a way with peace. In New York, the most violent side, Trelawny gets a first hand at what the gang had to do to survive. He bumps into a man in a bar and they entice s bar brawl which Trelawny walks away from. Trelawny is more quiet and intelligent now but still avoids violence. In the morning Trelawny find out he has sparked a war with a gang let's say is 'Jack Grinners'. These guys are the most dangerous gang in this side of the city, the other sides are the mafia and stuff. He is being hunted and isn't safe there so he moves to the more mafia motioned streets of NY but is still in trouble because he has a daughter and she may be killed. In sorrow, he bumps into another gang member, but a Mafia member instead , expecting a fight he immediately apologizes and the guy is super nice and kind, Trelawny kind of bonds with him and explains his situationb and he helps Trelawny, let's say he is 'Gary' (weak ahh name Ik). Gary is part of a heavily respected Mafia family and Trelawny with no other place to turn asks for advice on how to deal with the guys. Gary suggests he should build his own gang, Trelawny immediately disagrees stating his disgust in violence. Fast forward, Trelawny keeps getting pressured by this gang and they hold him to a state where he is homeless and his daughter is starving, he has no other choice. He visits a priest but the priest seems to only want money so that was hopeless. He even attempts to take his life, but finally he decides to start a gang, but a Mafia like gang. Mixing both parts of the town. At first, Trelawny starts a bar business with the little money he has left and hangs posters for the bar. He gains a lot of customers very fast due to the alcohol issues in NY. He one day takes all of these volunteers to a basement as begins his plan, they start with cattleman revolvers but ease up. At first they refuse but eventually Trelawny reveals why he needs them and they agree in the pitiful moment. They start weapon deals with the mafia and the Jack Grinners' rival gangs. This adds a new feature in the rdr franchise, leading a gang, similar to camp in rdr2 but ur the leader and you call shots and you can make your own parties and stuff. This liquor business slowly becomes a large gang association and Trelawny gets more and more money for the player's own grind. And eventually, Trelawny's name and gang is a public statement and he is now respected for his authenticity as a leader and as a man while other gang leaders rely on sales or henchmen to be authentic. This heavy respect makes Trelawny finally gain the respect of the Jack Grinners but he feels something missing, these guys took everything from him and he wants revenge. Even though his daughter pleaded he begins his rivalry.. okay fats forward, the rivalry is at an all time high, but also taking a toll on Trelawny's mental state, he is filled with pride and vengeance he's forgotten the people that built him up. Ignoring raising his daughter and even ignoring and power abusing his men. This slowly crumbles his personality and makes him more and more brutal and heartless. Even one night beating his daughter after she yelled at him for sleeping with multiple women and prostitutes. In the climactic ending, Trelawny enters a fancy and luxurious bar at night with intent to meet someone who has been seen taking his guns and oil. He sits down and has a tensing conversation with him with both bodyguards behind their seats. Things go hellwire and Trelawny reveals he has bombs planted all around the bar and will blow everyone up. He has officially lost it, in the beginning he had concern for every life, he was never loyal to the gang. Now, the gang is all his has left to be loyal to, and doesn't care about any human life including his own. He explodes the bar while exiting but he gets vision of his daughter and looks behind to see her crying on her knees just as he presses the button. He runs back in to save her but it is too late. She is dead. All of a sudden, Trelawny wakes up in his mansion with his guards beside him. His body is Corrupt Trelawny but his mind is Old Trelawny. He awakes in a mansion confused and walks around realizes what he has done. Pride had destroyed him and it ends with him trying to cross the road while limping and a wagon moving fast hits him and a fade to black just before we see it hit him.
These stories explore different topics about the characters and how they cope with the loss of the gang they once had, and how they chose to move forward, how they've changed. With Charles the only one knowing that John has died, he goes back to Beecher's hope in a post credit scene of the dlc credits. And he buries John with javk and a fade to black again.... Boom the end. These stories cover love, pride, corruption, Depravity, romance, sacrifice and reputation. These stories dive deep into the characters and give them what they didn't have enough time to give on screen in rdr2. These antagonists fit perfectly with the characters and their motives and philosophies. Sadie believes that she can never love a human again or care for one, Pedro challenges that by testing her belief to the fullest making a person that embodies her of the last man she ever cared about and seeing if she is speaking or hiding, by making her do some out of character things like seduction or brutally beating a man to death. Mike is the one thing that stops Charles from having a future but is only the one thing that makes Charles go back to the past, by Victoria. Charles wanted a family and future for himself and believed only to kill with meaning. Mike challenges that by forcing himself or be so unlikable and dangerous for Victoria that there is no other escape than by killing to save the person he loves, not the people. Because mike was an embodiment of Dutch and Charles was riding with Dutch but had that rule at the same time which caused Charles to question his past, but also Victoria by lying to both of them intentionally causing confusing and need for truth for both of them, using manipulation as a tool, just like Dutch. The real antagonist of Trelawny's story was pride and in the end pride won but story wise it was the Jack Grinners, Trelawny's one rule was to never use violence if someone just gets in your way, but by riding with Dutch he was told that they aren't getting in the way, they're stopping the way. A philosophy he refused and never inflicted violence on anyone, the Jack Grinners push that move to the furthest to see what would happen if Trelawny was given the burden of Arthur and the potential of Dutch, it made him prideful and spoiled his spirit and harmed the people around him, forcing a vision of only power and not leadership, there is a big difference. My personal favorite is Trelawny's story but what about you
Toodles!

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

“Before I met the Savior, I was a worthless piece of garbage, barely a human being,” Lovebug droned at the front of the enormous room. Lovebug was a monster of a man, two-hundred and fifty pounds of hard tattooed muscle. Like myself, he was a high-ranking member of the Church.
His flat gray eyes scanned the room with a fanatical gleam. I sat in the first row, watching and waiting. Followers of the Savior would tell their stories, how the Savior had reached down and lifted them out of sin and filth to bring them up to the divine. The bright fluorescent lights overhead droned on with a low hum. Thousands of men crammed together in seats or stood at the back of the room.
The Savior taught only two commandments: to murder is holy, and to die for the Savior is the highest bliss. An army of warriors followed the Savior, knights on a holy crusade, priests who wouldn’t hesitate to burn the foul bodies of any witches or demons we encountered. I thought of myself as a knight for the holy king, our Savior, the mouthpiece of the eternal.
“Now, it is like the hand of God has reached into my heart and loosened all the knots there, the knots of anxiety and fear and uncertainty.” He raised his black, military-style rifle into the air for emphasis. “I never realized the true nature of reality before- the fact that we are living in a simulation where the final battle of good versus evil is playing out before our very eyes. And I will be on the side of the good, until my dying breath. I will be on the side of the Savior and of God!”
The crowd roared and clapped. Men got to their feet, sweating heavily in the boiling hot conference room. I felt the surge of energy pass through me like a tidal wave, the pure confidence and iron will of truth. Lovebug lumbered down off the stage as the Savior came out from behind the red curtains, walking with the straight spine of a soldier. He wore a silky black robe that fluttered softly around him, the hood pulled back.
The Savior had horrific burns running the length of his body. His arms had melted folds of keloid scars visible all the way to the tips of his fingers. His scalp had also melted, and the Savior had no hair except for his eyelashes and eyebrows. But the fire that had nearly killed him had spared his face, an aristocratic visage with ferocious green eyes like those of a cat. That face seemed like it had been sculpted out of marble by DaVinci himself, the high cheekbones jutting out over a chin so sharp that it looked like it could have hammered nails into boards. He stared out at the crowd for a long moment, his gaze unblinking.
“The final battle has begun,” he said in a low voice, no more than a whisper. Yet, in the deathly silence of the hall, his words rang out loud and clear. “Those in charge of this illusory world know that we see them. We see them very well, how they hide behind the curtain. They control the world economy, the justice system. Every government, whether they call themselves communist, authoritarian or democratic, is no more than a puppet in their dancing fingers.
“When anyone tries to stand up and lead the masses of suffering people towards freedom from slavery, they are vilified by the mainstream media, brought up on false charges or killed, their bodies staged to look like a suicide. Look what they did to Jesus, and for what? For telling people to love God more than their rulers? And those who speak out today are also crucified, murdered in prisons or killed by their governments. Truth is the most precious commodity, after all. It is one that can only be purchased with blood.
“So what can we do? How can we fight against such evil?” There was a quiet muttering among the pale, frozen faces that stared up at the stage with adoration and love.
“We can fight it by using their own weapons against them!” the Savior said, his voice rising in speed and pitch. He raised his fisted hands to his chest, accentuating each syllable with a back and forth stab of his hands. “Fight fire with fire, and pay back blood with blood! The only thing these global terrorists understand is greater levels of force. We must show them death on a scale they have never before imagined.” I felt nervous as the Savior delivered his message. I saw other men shuffle anxiously in the crowded auditorium, most of them having high-caliber rifles slung around their shoulders.
I felt the rising violence and bloodlust in the air like electricity before a lightning storm. At that moment, I knew we would all have to fight before too long.
***
The Savior called me and Lovebug back to his office after the speech had ended, sending his squirrely assistant over to deliver the hand-written note in the Savior’s blocky, copperplate handwriting. For a long moment, I simply watched the crowd filtering out of the doors, heading back towards the complex where all the holy soldiers of the Savior lived. Feeling dissociated and light-headed, I followed behind the massive muscular form of Lovebug, the heavy weight of the M16 bouncing against my chest. We pushed through the blood-red velvet curtains, winding our way past stage equipment and down a hallway of pure marble.
Mystical paintings similar to those of Alex Grey covered both walls, showing the inside workings of the human body through art. It was as if the painter had X-ray vision and could see the heart chakra and the countless thin vessels that spiderwebbed up to the crown. But, unlike Alex Grey’s hopeful depictions of mysticism, these showed men and women being burned alive, crucified, decapitated or strangled. Dark colors composed the paintings: the dark blue of a suffocating face, the clotted red of an infected stab wound, the black of death. They captured the essence of struggle perfectly.
The Savior’s office had a thick mahogany door with silver engravings of leaves and vines running the length of it. At the top stood a single staring eye with twelve wavy tentacles emerging from the perimeter of it- the symbol of God, who the Savior had seen personally. God would sometimes speak through the mouth of the Savior, always during times of great tribulation or suffering. Lovebug knocked at the door. The Savior’s deep voice echoed out faintly.
“Come in.”
We entered slowly, the sprawling desk of the Savior filling half of the room. He sat in a comfortable chair behind it, reclining. On the walls behind him, he had pictures of Jesus, Saint Stephen, Gandhi, Hitler, Jim Jones, Shoko Asahara and others who he taught had fought against the world elites and been killed for it.
The Church of the Final Rapture was not a church in the conventional sense. The main teachings didn’t revolve around the divinity of Christ or the nature of original sin. What the Savior taught was far more profound- an illusory or simulated world where every single person could become their own Christ, could awaken to the truth and perform miracles, but only if they believed fully and followed the Savior.
“Sit down, please,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I have a mission I would like to discuss, and you two are the only ones competent and loyal enough to carry it out.”
***
“There is another anomaly spreading,” the Savior said, staring between me and Lovebug with his fanatical emerald eyes. “It is located in a rural part of the United States, in a town called-” he glanced down at the sheet of paper in front of him- “Frost Hollow. Supposedly, there are black-ops sites located nearby, secret alphabet agencies experimenting with magnetic distortion systems and creating rips in the fabric of spacetime with micro-wormholes.
“I don’t think it is much of a leap to say that the anomaly was likely started, either intentionally or unintentionally, by the government, as part of their research. The Cleaners would like to control that power, after all. They have been sending their men after it for years like sheep to the slaughter, expending billions of dollars researching it. If they and the US government end up being able to control the creation and spread of anomalies, they will use it to enslave the world. There is no question about it in my mind.” He leaned forwards towards us, his eyes growing cold.
“There is only one path forward I can see. We need to spread the anomaly, make it become unstable so the demons of Hell contained within it can spill out onto the real world. Perhaps it will awaken the downtrodden masses enough to begin the final revolution. We must fight terrorism with greater terrorism, and violence with greater levels of violence. For this mission, I am sending the two of you into Frost Hollow.
“Your job will be to find the Titan or Titans and lead them out to the border of the anomaly. These are horrendous beasts- indeed, the Church has seen them before. They are nearly impossible to kill. I want you two to go inside, bait it and have it follow you back to the edge, beyond the veil.”
“What’s a Titan?” Lovebug asked, his eyes flicking left and right nervously. The Savior stared at him stonily for a long moment. Then his eyes rolled back in his head, showing only the whites. All the blood seemed to drain from his face. His teeth chattered, his mouth opened, and through it, God spoke, the words pouring out like crashing stones. The voice did not sound anything like the Savior’s. It sounded much deeper, more mechanical, more alien somehow.
“I see you very well. I saw you when you were no more than a blood clot in your mother’s body. I see you even as corpses, rotted, putrefying, crawling with scavengers and insects. I see everything, every moment of time. But, in the anomaly, there are things I cannot see. For this, my holy ones must go forth.
“In the center of Hell, you will find a rose, a bird and a stone. These will be your salvation, if salvation can be found at all. Go with the blessing of Yaldabaoth.” The voice cut off abruptly, the silence deafening. I could hear my own heart pounding in my ears.
The Savior’s eyes came back down, looking confused and uncertain. His pupils were dilated and he was sweating heavily, even though it was cool and air-conditioned back here in his private office. We stared at each other across the table, a no-man’s land that protected me like a shield. For there seemed to be something dark in the Savior along with the light, and I didn’t know if any man could contain that power.
But there was no question of disobeying. Within the hour, Lovebug and I were on one of the Church’s private jets flying to the town of Frost Hollow.
***
The gently rolling hills of Frost Hollow loomed below us as the plane circled the small dirt airstrip in the middle of some cow farms. I looked up at Lovebug, trying to judge his stony expression. He had done many years in prison before joining the Church and finding salvation, even being the leader of one of the gangs. I knew he wasn’t afraid of violence. He had never told me what he did, what tortured him so much.
The Savior had told us much secret knowledge- how to find a Titan, a massive, bloated abomination that could come into being only within an anomaly, a combination of many rotted body pieces fused together in some sort of hellish black magic. The Savior had spies around Frost Hollow and the surrounding towns who had been monitoring the anomaly, watching the unstable gateways leading in and out and mapping them as best they could. We would be given a fast car, plenty of weapons and some body armor. I had no idea how nightmarish the journey would become, however.
“I’m driving,” Lovebug said as we descended the steps. A man in a black suit with the symbol of the eye and tentacles pinned on his black button-up shirt pulled up with a Mercedes AMG-One. It was a sleek, silver thing of immense luxury and power. The craftsmanship made it look like a work of art. I sighed, keeping my finger nervously on the trigger of my rifle as I glanced around the strange, empty town.
“If this thing won’t outrun a Titan, then nothing will,” I said, trying to break the tension. I looked at the speedometer, seeing it went up to 220 miles an hour.
“Damn fucking right,” Lovebug growled as we slid into the futuristic-looking leather seats. The engine turned on like a softly purring kitten. The GPS automatically turned on as well, the soft robotic voice leading us toward one of the more stable portals to the anomaly.
Lovebug sped down the empty forest roads of Frost Hollow, going twice the legal speed limit the entire way.
“The speed limit is only for the lowest common denominator,” Lovebug said pedantically, waggling a tattooed finger for emphasis. The GPS said we would reach the gateway to the anomaly in five minutes. Based on Lovebug’s speed, I thought it would be more like two. “Someone who actually knows how to drive and isn’t drunk or high can easily do 80 in a 40. Easily.” I glanced nervously at the speedometer, realizing he was going over 100 miles an hour now. The sports car hugged the tight corners of the winding forest roads with absolute precision.
“Turn right onto Snake Island Road Extension in five hundred feet,” the robotic female voice. Lovebug slammed on the brakes a few seconds later, the tires skidding and locking up. We looked around frantically, seeing no streets anywhere except the one we were on.
“What the hell?” Lovebug asked. The night was crawling in by now, the darkness covering the forests like a curtain. I squinted, looking at the thick grove of trees on our right, scanning it back and forth over and over. After a few seconds, I realized there was an overgrown dirt path there with no sign. It was nearly impossible to see at night, however, and calling it a road was somewhat of a joke.
“Oh, damn,” I said. “They should’ve given us an SUV.”
***
According to the GPS, our destination was only a thousand feet down Snake Island Road Extension. The low clearance of the Mercedes was a problem as Lovebug tried to navigate the flooded forest path. Deep tread marks flooded with black, stagnant water marked the entirety of Snake Island Road Extension. But ahead, the headlights illuminated something unusual.
Cutting straight across the trees and brush like a razorblade was a shimmering wall of translucent energy. It reminded me of a mirage, curving upwards in wavy spiral patterns. I could see through it easily, but it gave everything a dark, sinister covering. The forest seemed to be in constant motion as the grayish light distorted it.
“Look how huge it is!” I said in awe, staring up at the starry sky. The flat wall rose up seemingly forever, disappearing in the cold void of infinite space. Lovebug slowly ambled the car towards the anomaly, trying to keep the Mercedes from getting stuck with its low clearance.
“You ready for this, man?” Lovebug asked in a quavering voice as we inched towards the anomaly. It was only seconds away now. He grabbed my shoulder. “This is it. Remember the commandments.” I closed my eyes, concentrating my heart on the Savior’s words. Dying for the good is the highest bliss, he had told us.
“Let’s do this,” I said, my eyes flying open from my silent prayer as the hood passed through the anomaly. It disappeared in front of our eyes. We could see the forest on the other side, but the Mercedes looked like it was going through some sort of teleportation portal, being ripped apart layer by layer and sent somewhere else. Lovebug nervously grabbed my hand.
“For the Savior and for the Good,” he whispered as we passed through.
***
I heard screaming and wailing, full of agony and unimaginable horror, like the screams of those burning in Hell. My vision went white. A carpet of morphing dark colors covered everything as the shrieking intensified, until I thought my eardrums would explode.
“Stop!” I cried, feeling the pressure in my head like a splitting migraine. “Stop screaming!” I started kicking, punching, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down!” someone whispered, slapping me hard across the face. Stunned, I looked up, seeing Lovebug holding me down in the seat. He was covered in sweat, his face a blank mask of terror. “Don’t scream. There’s things outside that are looking this way.” I blinked fast, my senses coming back to me. I felt like a man waking up from surgery, confused and disoriented, my memories only returning in small trickles and drops.
We were sitting in the Mercedes on a road that looked like it had been made of human skin. The headlights showed the ragged patches of pale, leathery flesh sewn together with black thread. The road disappeared ahead of us in a straight line. The land here looked as flat as Kansas. Like a mirror world, it had houses and restaurants and churches lining both sides of the road, but they were all wrong.
The stone church looked like it was constructed of some kind of red volcanic rock. Baphomets and upside-down pentagrams covered the outer walls, engraved deeply into the glossy surface. Mutilated bodies covered the front lawn, impaled, crucified, skinned alive or burned at the stake. Hundreds of men, women and children lay dead in front of the Satanic temple.
Overhead, the sky bubbled and frothed with red clouds and constant explosions of blue lightning. Like missile flashes, the lightning illuminated the world around us, shining brightly before going dark. The incessant strobing gave the entire place a kind of circus freakshow vibe.
Many of the homes looked like they had been constructed from bones and covered in human skin, like some sort of hellish teepee. Arm and leg bones wrapped in razor-wire formed the pillars. Grinning skulls lined the top of the flat, rectangular roofs, thousands of bleached human heads staring down.
Staring out of the dark doorways, I saw gleaming, silvery eyes. They loomed eight or nine feet in the air on spidery bodies. Their limbs looked as thin as bones, jet-black and dull. The only color from these still revenants was from their unblinking eyes and grinning mouths, where teeth like those of a dragonfish jutted out. Every pair of eyes on that street was fixed intently on the Mercedes, the sick rictus grins on their alien faces never faltering.
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling weak. “I thought I was in a nightmare for a minute there.” Lovebug shrugged his massive shoulders.
“Yeah, I felt it too, though I came out of it a lot faster than you did,” he said, glancing over at the Satanic church as we passed. It had protective black spikes rising high into the air all around it. The broken body of a child who had been burnt at the stake stood in front of the gates like a death omen, his small, withered hand holding a black rose. Lovebug choked, retching. He nearly rolled down the window, until his eyes met the silvery ones of a nearby abomination.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, looking closer at the church. On top of the roof, I saw an enormous statue of a black raven, its wings spread as if it were flying. It had three gleaming, silvery eyes embedded into the dark rock.
“That boy just reminds me of my son,” Lovebug whispered glumly, inching along the streets.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, surprised. Lovebug had never mentioned a family. He shrugged.
“I don’t. Not anymore. I killed him. I got drunk and high one night back when I was selling drugs. Fell asleep in the living room with a lit cigarette and burned down the whole house. I killed my wife and son, burned them. They sent me to prison, but what did that matter? The prison up here is far worse.” He tapped the side of his temple.
I was about to say something, but at that moment, many things happened at once.
***
Lovebug was staring at the corpse of the child when an inhumanly long arm reached up from the side of the car. It had fingers like spikes, as sharp as a knife and twice as long as normal human fingers. I gasped, a warning shout welling up in my throat, but the hand came smashing down into the driver’s side window and grabbed Lovebug’s neck.
The window exploded in a shower of safety glass, shattering like brittle bones. Lovebug’s scream was cut off as he was dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the car. I swung open my door, leaping out and bringing my rifle around.
The Cheshire Cat grin of the abomination never faltered as it held Lovebug in front of its body like a human shield, holding him by the neck above the ground. Lovebug’s legs kicked and squirmed, his face turning blue as he slowly suffocated. His eyes bulged from their sockets, panicked and rolling, uncomprehending in their total animal panic.
I flicked on the laser sight. It danced over the ground, flashing over the body of Lovebug and the abomination. But I couldn’t aim for its torso or face, as I would probably hit Lovebug in the process. It was far too close.
I aimed for the monster’s thin, skeletal feet, the black toes twisting over each other like the roots of a tree. The gunshots rang out as a deafening counterpoint to the thunder blasts.
The monster gave a hissing gurgle as two bullets caught it in the right ankle. The creature seemed bloodless, and only dust and ashes rolled out of the exploded insectile flesh. It tried to skitter away, but its destroyed ankle caused it to fall forward, throwing Lovebug.
His body rolled across the road, the soft leather that looked like it was made from tens of thousands of human skins. Gasping, his lips still showing a faint blue cast, he struggled to crawl away.
I saw furtive movement from all around us. The creatures in the houses and doorways were moving forwards, drawn by the bloodshed or noise. Hundreds of glowing, silvery eyes surrounded us. I sprinted forward, dragging Lovebug to his feet.
“The church,” I hissed. “It’s the only place.” Still pulling the weak, confused Lovebug behind me, we staggered towards the black gates. They opened with a shriek of rusted metal.
***
The creatures stopped at the gates to the blood-red church, simply staring at us like statues. They didn’t even seem to breathe, their lidless eyes never blinking, the silvery glow never fading.
“I think this is the place we’re meant to go,” I whispered as we made our way towards the massive pointed doors. “When God spoke to us, he said something about a stone, a bird and a rose, that we would find the Titan through that.” I pointed back at the burnt body of the boy. “He’s holding a rose. On top of the building, there’s a bird. And the church is all stone. Maybe this is the place where God wanted us to go all along.”
“Maybe,” Lovebug muttered through heaving gasps, still grabbing at his bruised neck. “God, this hurts. It feels like I got hanged.” Side by side, we pushed open the doors to the Satanic church and walked inside.
***
Row after row of pews stretched out in front of us. Thousands of black candles were set up all around the perimeter of the enormous chamber. They sputtered and flickered constantly, throwing dancing shadows in every direction.
A small pair of bright eyes glanced up at us from under one of the nearby pews. I nearly jumped out of my skin, pointing the rifle at them and yelling.
“Show yourself! Come out now, or I shoot!” Lovebug looked at me, confused. He hadn’t seen it. But a few heartbeats later, a little girl crawled out, her eyes big and blue, her body an emaciated wreck. She wore ripped strands of what looked like leathery human skin to cover herself, tied together with black string. In one small, grime-streaked hand, she held a half-eaten raw mouse.
“Please, don’t kill me,” she said in a small voice. “I’m Emma. My mommy and daddy got dragged away and I’m scared.” I felt sick and weak looking at this small victim. I reached down and helped her up.
“I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, kneeling down to her level. “I thought you were one of the bad guys. This is Lovebug, and I’m Jack.”
“This isn’t part of the mission, man,” Lovebug said nervously. “What are we supposed to do with her?”
“Well, we can’t just fucking leave her here,” I whispered back. “We need…” But I never got to finish that thought. Because, at that moment, the church woke up.
***
A red glow started at the front of the chamber, the altar where the priest would have stood and given speeches or holy communion. Here, they had a podium that looked like it was carved from a single block of obsidian. Reflected in it, I saw the screaming faces of people burning in Hell, grinning demons ripping off strips of human flesh and spiraling waves of flames, all sculpted by an artist who was able to capture the most miniscule details of agony and torture.
I looked around, realizing Emma had gone. I hadn’t seen her scurry away and hide, but her absence gave me a feeling of crushing dread in my chest.
“Lovebug, something’s wrong,” I whispered, still staring up at the altar. I heard a floorboard creak behind me. I glanced back just in time to see a man wearing full SWAT gear. I caught the flash of a pistol coming down, the butt aimed at my forehead. I heard the cracking, felt the immense pressure and pain. For a few moments, I swam in the currents of consciousness, trying to stay awake, but then the blackness crept in and stole me away.
***
I awoke suddenly, my hands tied so tightly behind my back that I couldn’t feel my fingers. I felt sick and wanted to throw up. I quickly choked those feelings back down. I tried to shake my head, to clear it, but that just brought jolts of pain like electricity shooting through my skull. Nearby, I heard a gunshot, then another.
“Bring it, fuckers!” Lovebug screamed in an insane voice. The explosion of a grenade rocked the building, and I smelled choking black smoke. I opened my eyes, seeing three men in SWAT gear laying dead, their bodies scattered haphazardly around the chaotic scene. One wall of the church had blown outwards, the stone still sending out gray wisps of wavy smoke into the air. I looked at my partner, seeing he had a bullet hole in his left arm and another one in his stomach. He was bleeding heavily, but the adrenaline and insanity seemed to keep him afloat- for now, at least.
I saw something walking towards us from the stage. It looked like a small boy, but black shadows spiraled up around his chest and face, translucent and shimmering darkly. He looked about five or six, his skin pale and smooth. As Lovebug’s face grew slack and distant, the boy abruptly erupted into flames.
“Don’t kill me again, Dad,” the small boy whispered in a hoarse voice choked with pain. The flames rose from his head and skin, melting his flesh, blackening it. Drops of boiling fat dribbled off his nose and chin. “Don’t send me to the dark place again, Dad…” He continued creeping closer to Lovebug, moving like a lion stalking an antelope.
“I didn’t know!” Lovebug cried, his face going paler. Tears streamed from his eyes as the rifle trembled wildly in his shaking hands. For a long moment, he looked torn, the finger tightening on the trigger as sobs escaped his chattering lips.
“Kill it, Lovebug!” I screamed. “Don’t let it get to you!” But as he dropped the rifle and knelt before the small boy, I knew it was too late.
The shadows spun faster and faster around the burning, dying body of the boy. He gave a scream of soul-shattering agony, reaching out to a small hand towards Lovebug.
“Help me!” the boy cried. Lovebug hesitated before bringing an arm up to take the boy’s hand.
“I missed you, Robbie,” Lovebug said before his fingers brushed the boys. The boy lunged forward, grabbing Lovebug’s hand with an iron grip. I saw Lovebug’s eyes widen in shock and surprise. A moment later, I heard the bones in his hand grinding together before breaking with a sound like snapping tree branches. The boy’s eyes darkened into jet-black orbs, the melted lips splitting into a sadistic grin.
“I missed you, too,” the thing hissed as its right arm changed, melting and reforming into something black and blade-like. The insectile limb swung forward in a blur, coming straight at Lovebug’s heart. He gave a panicked squeal a moment before it hit, trying to pull away with all of his considerable strength, his face turning chalk-white as the shattered bones in his hands ground together.
I closed my eyes, rolling away, trying to undo the knots that held my hands in place. Lovebug must have been greatly outnumbered. He would never have let that man tie me up. I heard the sounds of tearing meat and crunching bone nearby. Lovebug’s final breaths gurgled through the air, but I still kept my eyes closed, not wanting to look.
I felt a small tickle on my wrists, then heard a little voice next to my ear.
“I’ll get you out of here,” Emma whispered. I waited a few moments, then I heard the ropes snap. I looked back, seeing her holding a piece of sharp, broken glass in one tiny hand. In her other, she had the car keys. I wondered how she had gotten them, the little pickpocket.
“Thank God,” I said, rubbing my wrists. I looked around for my rifle, seeing it was laying next to the body of one of the SWAT guys. I wondered who these men were. I crawled towards it slowly, not wanting to draw attention.
“Don’t move another step,” a voice growled behind me. I glanced back, seeing the small boy, his features morphing into those of a demon. Curving horns spiraled from his temples. His jet-black eyes stared down at me with hatred and coldness. “You’ll follow your friend who killed my servants. His soul will stay alive forever within my body, a sickly thing wrapped up in an eternal shriek.”
“Fuck you,” I cried, lunging for my rifle. Emma disappeared behind a pew, running on all fours without looking back. I spun as I hit the ground, turning the barrel towards the morphing face of the shape-shifter. Its jaw unhinged, a snake-like tongue flicking out as it flew through the air towards me. Hollow fangs dripping clear venom grew from its mouth in a heartbeat, elongating and sharpening before my very eyes.
I fired twice, the bullets entering through its mouth and coming out the back of its head. Its flesh disintegrated in an instant, the body turning into light, gray ashes that disappeared in the breeze. Breathing hard, I waited, wondering if it was all over.
I heard a rumbling far below me, as if an earthquake were starting. A moment later, the church floor exploded upwards, sharp rubble and splintered boards flying in every direction.
***
“It’s coming!” Emma screamed, running over and grabbing my hand. I lay there, shell-shocked and unmoving for a long moment. In hindsight, the girl was a natural born survivor with much sharper reflexes than me. It was likely the only reason she survived as long as she had.
“The Titan,” I whispered grimly, trying to pull myself up to my feet. But it was like trying to walk on a heaving, sinking ship. Parts of the floor collapsed down into a seemingly never-ending abyss beneath us.
Near the stage, I saw hundreds of long, pale arms pulling something bloated and monstrous out of the ground. It was a Titan, and no explanation can ever convey the true horror of that thing.
It looked like countless human corpses had been melted together, fused into a ball with sagging, boneless chests, deformed faces and millions of writhing maggots. It groaned and gurgled with many lungs, exhaling a rotting, sulfurous breeze that made me want to retch. A soft susurration of many pained, muttering voices continuously emanated from the Titan.
“Emma, run!” I screamed, but she was already sprinting back towards the front door of the church. I backpedaled, afraid to look away from the creeping monstrosity, the juggernaut of rotting flesh moving towards us.
I heard the Titan closing the distance as I sprinted through the front door. The abominations with the silver eyes still slunk around the gate, blocking the car. I raised the rifle, firing blindly at the creatures, careful not to hit the little girl.
“Go to the car!” I screamed at Emma, feeling around for the keys. As the abominations saw the Titan, those still alive scattered, moving in a blur back into the shadows and homes of this rotten place.
The Titan broke the front wall of the church, sending splinters of red stone flying in every direction like bullets. It groaned and gurgled faster, its sickly cries more insistent. I ran to the Mercedes, starting it up and pressing the accelerator to the floor. I pulled a U-turn, heading back to the border of the anomaly.
***
The engine roared, the car bucking like a wild stallion as it pressed me and Emma back into our seats. But the creeping Titan continued gaining speed behind us, and for a few seconds, I feared we would be crushed to death under its massive weight.
The anomaly shimmered ahead of us. I crashed through it at two hundred miles an hour, skidding wildly as the Mercedes hit the dirt road. I nearly flew into a tree. I managed to right it at the last second, pulling onto the paved street as the Titan broke through behind us.
It followed us out. It’s in the real world now.

I can still acutely pinpoint the exact moment my life changed.
I was 11 years old, about to graduate from elementary school. A few months prior, I had been accepted into a prestigious private school in the state. For my Asian immigrant parents, this moment signified that their struggles and sacrifices had paid off. They often reminded me that they were the smartest, most educated of their cohort back home, with lucrative jobs and high social status. They had given this all up to move overseas, where they did not understand the language or foreign customs. They had done this for me - to ensure I had a better life. They had sacrificed their dreams, ambitions and everything they knew for me to have this chance. For me, for me, for me. There was no choice but for me to succeed. To prove that their sacrifice had been worth it. To prove that even though they had been demoted to the bottom of American society, that they would live their dreams through their only child.
On that day, I arrived home from school to find a box of chocolates on my doorstep. It was from a boy in my class who I had never thought much of. Surprised, I brought it inside to show my parents. Growing up under the influence of my overly hospitable father, my first instinct was to buy him a similarly-priced gift. Not because I liked him, but because I must return the favour and could not be in his debt. However later that night, the boy called my home. When my father answered, he nervously hung up. He called again 30 minutes later, no doubt hoping to reach me. Again, my father answered. Again, he hung up.
My father became furious. Surely, I, at 11 years old, must have deliberately done something to catch his attention. I must have done something wrong. I must have asked for this. He sat me down, and ordered me to take out my yearbook. He looked through each page, pausing at every boy's profile to scrutinize his message to me. One boy (a friend) had thanked me for dancing with him at the end of year formal. Panicked, whilst my father was momentarily preoccupied elsewhere, I quickly scratched out his words. But it didn't end there. My father rang the boy's home and with hate-filled rage, screamed that he would call the police. He unplugged our phone and ordered me to return the chocolates and never speak to him again. From that moment on, my parents watched my every move. I was not allowed to speak on the phone, I was not allowed to speak to any boy, and every afternoon they called home at 3:15pm on the dot to make sure I came back straight from school. I was forced to constantly show them all my emails and messages.
That event changed my life. It broke all trust that I had in my parents. I could no longer view them as the safe haven that they were supposed to be. Instead, they planted seeds of fear, shame, guilt and self-loathing within me that would plague me for years to come. They taught me, through their actions, that women (even girls) were responsible for the actions of men and boys and should be held accountable for them. That women must somehow always invite the attention of men and furthermore, they must have asked for it. That no matter what I said, that I would not be believed. That I was someone not to be trusted, a naive stupid girl.
I decided on the spot that if I was to be responsible for his actions, then I would be responsible for his actions. I began to 'date' the boy. At 12 years old, I started partaking in sexual acts which were years beyond me, with a boy I did not like who was equally confused and equally not ready.
The situation did not improve when middle school started. My parents had purposely selected an all-girls school to ensure that I would not be distracted by boys. Little did they know, I fell in love for the first time with a female classmate. She was smart, funny, articulate and gorgeous. I could not stop thinking about her. It was a confusing, heartbreaking, but beautiful time. None of which I shared with my parents, having learnt my lesson.
As the years went on, I drifted further and further away from my parents. Communication was almost non-existent apart from the necessary 'time to eat' and the lectures about study and homework. I did not tell them about my first love, my first boyfriend, or even my second boyfriend. I did not tell them my dreams, hopes, and fears. I could not. Just as I was not to be trusted, they were also not to be trusted. This didn't stop them from trying to find out about my life through snooping and detective work. Never by asking me. One time, I found a piece of my diary in my parents' room - where I had written down the highs, lows and heartbreaks from a semester abroad. How I had slept with strangers on a path to discover myself. How I had fallen in love but was too careless with his heart. I should have been furious, but at this point I just expected it. I was numb.
In adulthood, my parents do not know me. We see each other every week because Asian filial piety demands it, but these meetings are meaningless. They do not know about my partner of 10 years. They do not know that we have bought a house together. They do not know that we are trying for a family of our own. And they do not know my deepest fear - which is for my child to grow up to be exactly as I am.