The city was on fire.
The world was on fire. Cities, farms, neighborhoods, all victims to a raging inferno.
Nancy Collins, a forty-one-year-old schoolteacher was in the process of stabbing her husband, screaming the word “cleanse.” Jason Parker, a twenty-eight-year-old gas station employee, killed everyone in the store then drenched the whole place in gasoline. He pulled out his lighter and caused the gas station to blow up in a massive explosion. Tommy Moore, a fifty-six-year-old veteran, was standing in the street in a red pointed hood and robes. He was commanding about ten people in black hooded robes to open fire on the city.
Agent Phil drove his black SUV straight into the thick of it. He called on his radio for backup from White Light, but all he got was static. He checked his back seat to make sure he had his M4A1 and plenty of ammo.
If I’m going out, I’m taking some of you bastards with me, he thought.
As he drove onto the bridge that led downtown, all he saw were bodies and fire. He kept driving until he saw somebody worth either saving or killing. Sure enough, a few moments later, a young woman ran out into the middle of the street screaming for help. Two black-robed and hooded figures were following her.
Phil came to a screeching stop and grabbed his M4. He exited the car in a hurry and pointed the gun at the men.
“Hey! Over here!” he screamed.
The woman noticed him and began sprinting toward him. Phil began firing shots at the hooded people. Three shots hit and killed one of them. Two more shots, including one to the head, instantly dropped the other.
The woman kept running even though the threat had been eradicated. Phil spoke up and told the woman that she was okay.
She kept running.
“Let’s get out of here, okay? I’ll take you to safe—”
Before he could finish, she let out a scream and jumped on Phil. They both launched back into the side of his SUV. The M4 slid under the car. Phil let out a grunt but had no time to collect his thoughts as the woman jumped right back up and onto him. Then she pulled out a knife and began to cut Phil’s forearms, which he’d held up in defense.
Phil realized what he had to do and that he needed to do it quickly. He grabbed her hand that held the knife and forced it away from him. She used her other hand to continuously scratch his face, until Phil grabbed his sidearm from his holster and put three shots into her stomach.
She groaned and fell over.
Phil got up immediately and looked at the woman he had just killed. She was screaming for help, but Phil understood now that she was bait, and the hooded figures following her were meant to cleanse whoever helped her.
Phil felt blood seeping through a large scratch on his cheek. He shook his head then picked up his M4 from under the SUV. He decided to ditch the car and continued down the street on foot. As he walked, more bodies began to pile up on the streets. The pops of gunshots rang in his ears. It sounded like a full-on war was in progress.
Phil ran toward the sound to see if he could help. He happened upon an intersection in which, sure enough, a firefight was taking place. Three white police cars were parked near each other with about six officers hiding behind them. On the opposing side, about fifteen black hooded figures were shooting back. They had no cover and did not need it, as the continuous firing at the officers did not allow for any return fire. Phil could see a few dead officers who’d tried to interrupt the bombardment of bullets but failed. The cultists were inching closer and closer, firing their weapons and reloading continuously.
Phil quickly aimed his M4 at them, but something held him back. The woman he had just saved tried to kill him. He knew that if it was a trap, there would be fifteen cult members as well as six pretend officers on his ass. He waited a moment longer and then made a choice. He cocked his M4 and began to shoot at the cultists.
Two of them were killed instantly by headshots. Another was shot in the neck, and he fell to his knees and bled out right in front of the others. They all noticed this and turned to Phil, who was still shooting. Another’s head was separated from her shoulders. They all began to shoot at Phil, who took notice and ran to the side of the road, where he hid behind a car.
The police officers noticed that the bullets had stopped coming for them and were now directed down another street. They used this opportunity to get up and begin their attack. Three cult members dropped pretty quickly as the officers began their own parade of bullets. Phil got up and returned fire as well, killing another two.
The cultists became flustered, as they were not sure which direction to shoot in. The officers dropped another two before an extremely loud engine could be heard from a distance.
The cultists immediately stopped shooting, lowered their guns, and kneeled. Phil stopped shooting, too, as did the other officers, although their guns were still locked on the cultists.
Phil got out from behind the car and began moving toward the officers, his gun still facing the cultists. The engine became louder and louder. Then they began to hear what sounded like a 1940s song over an intercom. It was faint, but it got louder as the engines did.
“Something’s coming,” Phil told the officers as he grouped up with them. “Reload and get ready.”
Three large trucks turned down the street. Each had about six hooded figures in the back. The truck in the middle was larger than the rest, and a man in a red hood and robe was standing in the back.
Phil and the other officers hid behind the police cars for more cover. Their guns were now aimed at the trucks. The ones who were kneeling began to hum and chant words Phil could not understand.
One of the police officers said, “Steady, men.”
The vehicles had all come to a stop and the cultists got out of the trucks. Each was holding an assault rifle or shotgun. The 1940s song continued to play over the intercom of the middle truck. Phil could not understand any of the words, as the song was in a different language.
The red-hooded individual got out of the back of his truck and walked closer. One of the black-hooded cultists walked up and kneeled before him. He presented the red-hooded man with a black AK-47 with a red spiral painted on it. The man grabbed the gun and cocked it.
“Agent Phil!” the red-hooded man said.
Phil, obviously caught off guard, took a moment to speak. “Yeah?” he finally yelled back.
“I only want to talk. Please show yourself.”
“Not a chance in hell, prick!” Phil replied.
“Fine,” the man said. “No more false faces!” He then proceeded to remove his hood. Phil looked through the broken window of the police cruiser to see none other than Commissioner Byrd.
The man who handed Byrd his rifle also unmasked himself. Phil was filled with rage—it was Jack Garcia.
Phil stood up. “Did you have fun killing your wife, you sick bastard?”
Jack shook his head, “She was weak, Agent Phil.”
Byrd spoke loudly. “Everything we have done, everything we live for, it is all because of him, our king.”
“Who, Artemis?” Phil began to laugh. “You guys realize that’s a girl’s name, right?”
Every single hooded figure let out a deep huff. Jack looked as though he’d bit his tongue, and Byrd spit at the ground.
“I will let that slide, Phil,” Byrd began, “as you will be cleansed momentarily.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Phil said angrily.
“You need to understand our glorious achievement,” Jack started. “As the world is being cleansed, you no longer need to fight. Look around you. Everything you have worked for is being demolished. Your friends are being sacrificed as we speak.”
“Wait, what do you mean?” Phil yelled.
“Well, Artemis has returned to this world in Lewis’ physical form,” Byrd said. “He needs only to kill Mr. Nelson’s wife, then Karissa and he will be in this world forever. The Cleansing lets Artemis gain the necessary power to complete the ritual. Andrew Bolton will be dissected, and he’ll have the pleasure of being Artemis’ guardian Angel.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so!” Phil screamed while standing up and aiming at them. He began to fire, killing three cultists instantly. The officers began to fire as well. An all-out war began in the city of Portland. Bullets were hitting the police cars, sending pieces of metal into the air. Phil ducked down for a moment to reload his M4. An officer got shot in the head and fell down in front of him, blood pooling out. Phil looked upon the dead officer with wide eyes. The wave of cultists kept coming closer, as they knew there was nowhere for Phil and the officers to run.
Phil looked around him. Another officer had been shot in the neck, and he flew into the street with great force. Portland was burning. There was no way out. When Phil decided to get back up and shoot back, he realized that he and one other officer were the only ones left standing. He began to shoot while letting out a scream. The bullets of his M4 cut through the bodies and skulls of three cultists like it was nothing.
One of the bullets Phil fired hit Jack Garcia square in the face. Byrd took notice, as his comrade had fallen to the ground in a gurgling mess. Byrd lifted his rifle and aimed it at the agent.
Phil continued to fire until he was hit in his shoulder, sending him flying onto his back. The bullet had come from Byrd’s AK. The other officer wasn’t so lucky, as five bullets from multiple cultists had hit him in the chest, neck, and head, killing him.
Now Phil was the only one who remained.
The firing stopped at once. There were no sounds of celebration by the cultists, no explosions, nothing. Complete silence. Agent Phil looked around. His M4 was about eight feet from where he was lying. He tried to reach it, but the pain of the bullet lodged into his shoulder wouldn’t allow him to.
He still had his sidearm, which he pulled out, getting ready for the army of cultists to inevitably come around the wall of battered police cruisers that separated them. Sure enough, a few moments later, that’s exactly what happened. They all had their guns aimed at him. Phil figured that even though he could probably only take down one or two more of the cultists before they started firing at him, they were probably going to kill him anyway, so he began to shoot.
Two of them dropped dead, but the others did not move at all. They had absolutely no fear of dying.
When Phil’s handgun locked in the cocked-back position, signifying that he had run out of ammo, he just lay there and looked at the barrel, which was still smoking.
“Ah, screw it,” he said as he threw it to his side and looked up into the sky.
Blood was pouring out of his shoulder, causing the pool that formed below him to spread. Byrd jumped on the cop car in front of him, his red robe flowing in the wind and ash.
“Well, Agent Phil, here we are,” Byrd began as he kneeled down on the hood. “I could leave you here to die, or I could save you, and you could join us. Which would you prefer?” He looked deep into Phil’s eyes.
“Enough with the theatrics. Just kill me, you pathetic bastard,” Phil said, struggling to get the words out. “But just know one thing: you will lose. If you think that Andrew Bolton will go down without a fight then you are gravely mistaken. If you think this world will succumb to your laughable ideas… then you are about as stupid as they come.”
“Hm,” Byrd mumbled. “So be it.”
After a brief moment, Jack aimed his AK-47 and shot seven bullets into Agent Phil, killing him instantly. And as Phil’s body lay there in the middle of a burning Portland, Commissioner Byrd and the rest of his cultists hopped back into their trucks and drove off, looking to do some more cleansing.
*
Bolton lay on an ice-cold table. He was strapped in and couldn’t move. The Angels had led him through a long set of stairs, down a hallway and under the chapel before entering a cold white room that was lit up like a laboratory. There, they threw him onto the table and strapped him in.
The two Angels stood at the door and did nothing more. Bolton looked over at the one who had his pistol in his belt.
It was still there.
The sound of a door opening startled Bolton. A small bald man walked through. He was wearing a black lab coat. Bolton noticed a large lump on the man’s right shoulder, which wasn’t covered. He showed disgust on his face as the man approached him.
“Hello, Detective Bolton,” the man said in an Icelandic accent. “I am Gunther. I have been healing this village for many, many years, and let me just say: you have been given a huge gift. What an honor it is to be the personal Angel of Artemis.”
“You’re going to turn me into one of those freaks?” Bolton asked nervously, gesturing towards the two Angels.
Gunther slapped him hard, leaving a bright red mark on his face. “They are my perfections, you swine!”
“Y’all really like slapping, huh?” Bolton said, shaking his head.
Gunther opened a drawer that contained a plethora of tools. Once Bolton saw them, he nervously asked, “Okay, but why me?”
“Andrew Bolton, in order to make an Angel, we need a strong body that can survive the modifications. The mind needs to be strong as well, and severe trauma makes a mind strong. We’ve been watching you for a long, long time.”
“What do you mean?” Bolton asked.
“The Curry family that you killed in Montana; they were members of ours.”
Bolton’s shocked look said it all. “What are you saying?”
Gunther put his tools down and walked over to Bolton. He sat down and looked into his eyes. “They followed Artemis’ guidance, my friend. The problem was they were extremists.”
Bolton laughed. “Wait, you’re telling me you guys aren’t extremists?”
Gunther continued, “They wished for the Cleansing to come early, thinking that performing the Cleansing would be the thing that brings Artemis back to us instead of waiting patiently for the right mind and body to come around. So, they would go around cleansing whomever they deemed worthy. When the daughter came to her senses and decided she wanted to wait until the actual Cleansing, she ran away and joined another family we had there. She sparked up a relationship with the boy of that family and stayed in their home. The rest of the Currys didn’t like that, and, well, you know the rest. So when you killed them, we knew it would leave just the right amount of trauma to make you a perfect Angel. Especially with the death of your parents. However, you left, and we lost track of you until we recruited you. We figured that perfect balance of strength and damage would be very suitable for Artemis.”
“Wait,” Bolton started, “what do you mean you recruited me?”
“Andrew,” Gunther said softly. “We were the ones who helped you become an FBI agent.”
Bolton sat there in disbelief. He felt as though his whole life was a lie. He couldn’t speak for a long moment until he noticed Gunther fidgeting with his tools again.
“Okay, so if it’s trauma that makes us good a fit, why is Lewis the one Artemis chose?”
“Why?” Gunther asked as Bolton continued to nervously watch him examine his materials. “There are things in Lewis’ past that we were not aware of. Things that quickly presented themselves to us after that night when Mr. Hopkins was cleansed. Just like you, Andrew, he is haunted by a dark past.”
Gunther put down his tools and sat next to the operating table. He looked the detective deep in his eyes.
“Back when Lewis was a child, he and his brother were walking home from school, and a few bullies jumped them. Well, the brother told Lewis to fight, but, alas, the young professor decided to run, leaving his brother outnumbered, if you will. The bullies ended up beating the brother to death. When they found little Lewis, they didn’t beat him. No, they dragged him over to the brother’s body and told him that if he told anybody, they would do the same to his family and friends and then finally Lewis himself. Lewis didn’t know what to do, so he began to plot. As you are now aware, trauma is something we look for. However, Lewis’ was different.”
Gunther looked around in bliss, like he had just walked through a field of roses.
“Lewis’ trauma built up inside of him. He didn’t take it out on anyone. Not for a very long time. Add in a friend dead to suicide and dead parents to a car accident—not to mention the will to not act on your trauma—and you get something better: rage. The thing he has not told a single soul is that in college, he went back home, and while he was out at a bar by himself, the bullies that killed his brother walked in. The second Lewis saw them, he told them to meet him outside. Sure enough, the men did, and Lewis proceeded to use a broken bottle and his bare hands to kill two out of the three. He let the last one live and stated that if he told anybody, he would kill his friends, family, and then him.”
“Jesus Christ,” Bolton said out loud.
“But something changed Lewis,” Gunther continued, “gave him a new take on life. It was his wife, Karissa. When they met in college, Lewis’ rage took a back seat to his love for her. Sure, it would show itself sometimes, but only if there was a threat to Karissa. She was the one who kept him in line. We needed her gone in order for the trauma to set back in and the rage to take over. So, the plan was to dispatch Karissa, and as soon as Lewis found out, we’d sedate him and bring him here for Artemis. This, however, didn’t work. Karissa left Spokane too early, and you and Lewis decided to run your own little investigation. Either way, Lewis is here, as are you and Karissa. Once Artemis kills her, Lewis will no longer be present. Artemis will have full control of his body, and we can finish the cleansing for a better world. For Artemis’ world, as is his will.”
“Well, that just sounds like the most bullshit thing I have ever heard,” Bolton exclaimed.
Gunther gave a slight laugh and began to grab his tools. Bolton decided to start squirming on the table, making it hard for Gunther to begin his procedure. The Angels walked over to the table and held Bolton down.
The thing was, Bolton’s hand was right next to his handgun, which still sat in the angel’s belt. Bolton knew he had one chance. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fight off two Angels and a doctor while he was strapped down, but he believed it would be better for him to die than be turned into an Angel.
He thought of his beautiful family. His two daughters and loving wife.
Then, Bolton quickly grabbed the gun, and, although restrained, he pointed it up into the Angel’s abdomen and fired three times. The Angel fell back but didn’t die. The other Angel must’ve been startled, as he grabbed the entire operating table, with Bolton on it, and threw it across the lab.
Gunther yelled at the Angel, “No! You stupid fool! You will destroy my work!”
Bolton lay there for a moment. The table was broken, and the straps were off. He was dazed but quickly snapped out of it. He saw the Angels and Gunther in front of him. When Gunther gave the order to seize the detective, Bolton grabbed the handgun and fired it into the first Angel’s head, causing half of it to be blown off. He aimed at the second Angel and fired again, right through the head, killing him instantly.
Gunther put his hands up and after a short time, began laughing. “Quite poetic, isn’t it?” he said, shaking.
Bolton aimed the gun at him and asked where Lewis and Karissa were. There was bloodlust in his eyes.
Gunther knew what was going to happen but continued anyway. “You will arrive to their rescue too late. And you believe the bullets you have left in that gun will be enough to kill us all? Think again, boy.”
“You’re right, guess I should save them,” Bolton said fiercely.
He put the gun in his belt, then grabbed Gunther by the collar of his lab coat and looked at him in the eyes.
“I am also filled with rage…” the detective said before throwing the man against the wall, then quickly began to bash his head into it, over and over again, until half of Gunther’s face was stained on the white wall.
Then Bolton began his way up to the main part of the chapel. Now that he knew the Cleansing was in full force, he knew his only hope at saving Lewis—and perhaps the whole world—was that Artemis had not killed Karissa yet.
*
She looked into his eyes. The eyes that were no longer his. While he still looked like Lewis, he spoke differently, and he acted with strange mannerisms that Lewis would never use. She was so drawn to the fact that her beloved was no longer hers that she’d completely ignored the words he was preaching to the village and the large knife he held in his hand.
She didn’t care. She watched Artemis put both of his arms up as he soaked in the horrific chants of the villagers. Karissa wished for only one thing: that Lewis would be there too, wherever they might end up.
She was reminded of a time when she and Lewis were still young. It was their fourth date, and Lewis took her along the Oregon shoreline to a large, rustic bridge that sat right on the beach. The sun was setting, and the stars began to show themselves above. Karissa remembered lying down and looking at the gleaming lights above while holding Lewis’ hand.
He was warm. She would always remember that warmth. The same warmth she would always feel when she was with him. She thought about the words he said to her that night. How some believe stars are souls. Shooting stars are souls who know exactly where they’re going, and the ones we see every night are stuck between this world and the next because they are waiting for their soulmate to join them.
Karissa found this memory comforting. If Lewis’ soul was still stuck in that body while Artemis used it, she would wait for him. That is what went through her head even when Artemis grabbed her by the neck and put the knife there. Her eyes were closed, as she didn’t want to see what became of Lewis, she wanted to live their life together over and over again in her mind.
Before Artemis was able to slide the knife across her throat, a tear ran down her face all the way to his hand. Karissa whispered, “I love you…”
Artemis’ eyes widened.
Once Lewis heard that and felt her tear touch his hand from the abyss where he was, he no longer felt as though he were in the trunk. Now, he felt like he was in the passenger seat. He looked Artemis right in his glowing red eyes…
“Hey there buddy,” Lewis said with confidence. “Give me my fucking body back.”
He punched Artemis, which caused the fight for Lewis’ body to ensue. Karissa opened her eyes to the sound of Artemis grunting. He stepped away from her and began to grab his head. He was screaming.
Calvin nervously asked, “My Lord! Is everything all right?!”
Artemis ran into the altar, knocking it over, along with some candles. And before anyone knew it, rugs and curtains began to catch on fire. Karissa looked at everything with wide eyes. She wanted to help in any way she could.
So, she started speaking the truth.
“Lewy!” she screamed while watching Artemis fall down again, holding his head in agony. “You are my soulmate! The absolute love of my life! You need to come back to me! Come back to me, Lewy! I love you!”
Artemis’ scream sounded like he was being dragged to hell. Inside his mind, Lewis was fighting back.
“You had your chance in this world,” Lewis started as he grabbed Artemis by the horn and swung his face into his knee, “you blew it. You will not take me from her. I will fight for her until the end of time.”
“This is impossible,” Artemis said on his knees to Lewis. “I am a king!”
“No. You are a worthless and pathetic excuse for one,” Lewis said, standing over Artemis’ body.
“The world you live in needs me; it needs to be cleansed. These people lie and cheat. They care about none but themselves. Under my rule, they would be eradicated from existence.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lewis said, stepping to Artemis. “Is the world full of assholes? You bet. But they don’t deserve to die because of it. And you think people would change under your rule? No. We are human beings. Some are like that by nature but we all deserve the right to grow and learn from our mistakes.”
“You fool,” Artemis said with wide eyes.
“And on top of that, you hurt my wife, you piece of shit.” Lewis grabbed Artemis by the head and snapped his neck, causing Artemis to flee Lewis’ body.
*
During the fight for Lewis’ body, two Angels grabbed Karissa off her knees and began to take her to the back of the chapel, which was now on fire.
“Get off of me!” she screamed at them.
She looked over at Lewis and saw him get up off the floor. He searched around until he saw her. They made eye contact. She knew his eyes. They were his eyes.
Lewis shot up and began to run after her until he was hit in the face with a log. He fell down hard but looked up to see the log being swung at him again. He rolled away just before the log crushed his face into the floor. He looked up to see none other than Calvin, holding a log from the burning church. Lewis got up again, blood streaming out of his nose.
“I’m not impressed,” Calvin said. “You cannot stop Artemis, for he is all powerful.”
“I stopped him already. He is not coming back, Calvin,” Lewis responded. “If even he couldn’t stop me from getting to Karissa, you definitely don’t have a chance.”
Calvin’s response was to angrily swing the log again, but he missed, and Lewis dodged the attack. The professor punched the back of Calvin’s head, causing him to stumble. Lewis began to run to the back of the church, until an Angel burst through the door, throwing Lewis halfway across the room. He looked up to see Calvin standing by an Angel while a tapestry with a red spiral on it burned up behind them.
Lewis looked around for any sort of weapon. Then he saw it. Right behind Calvin and the angel was the knife that he’d held when his body wasn’t his. He shot straight forward and ran as fast as he could. Calvin lined up for a swing, but Lewis saw it coming and at the very last minute slid underneath both Calvin’s swing and the Angel’s large hand.
He grabbed the dagger and quickly swung around to stab the Angel’s knee. The Angel fell like a rag doll, and Lewis pulled the knife out and quickly stabbed it in the face. It died immediately.
He knew Calvin was somewhere near him, but he couldn’t pull the dagger out from the Angel’s face fast enough, and he was hit in the side of his head.
“No!” Calvin screamed. “You horrendous little pig! That dagger is sacred!”
Lewis looked up dazed as Calvin hit him again. Blood from his mouth splattered the floor with another hit. And another. Lewis could hardly see out of his right eye. As Calvin raised the log for one final blow, a flaming piece of wood from the roof fell down and smashed in between the two, causing Calvin to fall down.
The entire chapel was coming down now. Lewis got up slowly and stepped over the wood to free the knife from the dead Angel’s face. Calvin was attempting to get up until a kick to the head stopped him immediately. He turned around and saw a bleeding Lewis holding the sacred knife. He made one final statement.
“Whatever you do, Lewis, just know that you will not win. Artemis will come back. I swear it.”
Lewis did not care. He grabbed Calvin by the top of his head and slit his throat as he stared into his eyes. Blood poured out as Calvin grabbed his severed throat. He fell over slowly and lay there until he died.
Lewis turned around and started for the back of the chapel, but he was quickly stopped short by a large burning log that had fallen in front of the door. The smell of burnt wood filled the air. Sparks were flying high. Smoke was fuming toward the hole in the roof and out into the world. Lewis ran back toward the front door, but he quickly realized that it was also blocked off.
He was stuck inside the burning chapel.
Looking around for another path, the professor went back toward the back door. And, while it was obviously still blocked off, there was a door that wasn’t. Lewis opened it and saw a flight of stairs that was accompanied by a dark hallway. He looked back one more time to make sure it was his only option. Sure enough, it was. So Lewis started down the stairs and into the darkness.
*
Karissa was attempting to free herself from the Angels’ grasp. They held on to her arms so tightly, she thought they might break them. Even through the sleeves of her shirt she could feel the long fingernails and the almost-rusty hands of the Angels.
They were taking her somewhere past the village. She was confused because the path led up a hill. She turned her head to look behind her, but all she could see was the massive snowstorm that was about to engulf the village and the chapel up in flames. And before she knew it, the chapel faded out with the fog of snow, and all that could be seen was the orange glow of the fire.
When they reached the top of the hill, Karissa realized that there was no more land to be walked. It was a cliff. She began to scream and attempted to wiggle out of the Angels’ grasp, but their hands were locked on.
Tired of her struggling, they forced her to her knees, and she stopped fighting back. She realized they were not going to push her over the edge. It was something more. Perhaps a backup plan? The Angels then spun her around so she faced the chapel, which was now completely invisible. In fact, she had a hard time seeing five feet in front of her.
There was nothing but silence. The snowflakes were very large, and they stuck to the ground. There was a strong, ice-cold wind that made Karissa’s brown hair dance. The Angels made no movements, no sounds, nothing. All she had to do was wait. For what was the question pouring fright into her mind.
*
Lewis was running down the stairs as if his life depended on it. No, not his—but Karissa’s. He needed to find his wife. He heard a large commotion from behind him, but he figured that must’ve been the chapel falling apart. He hoped to god there would be a way out, otherwise he would be trapped in whatever hellscape he’d just entered.
After a few moments, the stairs led to a large door. As he went through, the first thing he noticed was a large white room. There were two dead Angels on the floor and a doctor with half of his face smashed into the wall.
Jesus Christ, Bolton. What did you do? the professor thought realizing this was the room where they created Angels.
He saw the state the doctor was in. It was almost as if an Angel had done it.
Lewis thought, There is no way a human could do that, right?
When he realized Bolton either went crazy or had become an Angel, Lewis quickly decided what to do next. There was another door on the other side of the lab. He looked around and grabbed a large knife from a table full of tools. He ran through the door and entered a hallway that looked as if it belonged to a hospital.
It was dimly lit and featured a few photos on the walls. They were of the scientist, Gunther. Some were just him alone, others with his creations. Lewis continued down the hall and noticed a red glowing light in the distance. It was a pulsating light, and it looked as though it was coming from the room to the right.
What the hell? Lewis thought.
It was absolutely silent. So silent that it made the red glow seem that much stranger. Lewis gripped the knife tightly, ready for anything.
He crept past the corner and saw two large glass doors. The red glow was coming from inside. Lewis opened the doors and walked in, and what he saw instantly gave him chills. There were large vats full of some kind of red liquid all over the place. Each vat held bodies. Some were large, some were small, some were women, and some were men.
Lewis had no idea what he was looking at, but he continued through the room, for all he cared about was Karissa. After a few moments, he noticed a door that would get him out of this room. Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye.
It was the source of the bright, pulsating red light. He slowly turned his head, and his eyes widened at the sight of it. He walked toward it. The red glow shined brightly as it reflected off of the sweat dripping down Lewis’ head.
It was a metal capsule of some kind. It held a body. The body was pale and large. It was a male with an extremely good physique. Its eyes were wide open, and the corneas were a crimson red. It seemed as though, even though it looked awake, the body was in some sort of hibernation. His first thought was another Angel, but he quickly realized that no other body had been lit up or encased like this one.
No, this body was meant for something more.
But before Lewis could theorize more, the smell of smoke began to fill his nostrils. The fire began to burn down the stairs and into the hallways that led him to this discovery. He turned away and went out the other door. He figured if the whole lab was burning, the body and everything else would go with it.
He ran out the door and noticed some stairs that led up. Realizing it was most likely the way out, Lewis ran up them as fast as he could and didn’t look back. Sure enough, the stairs led to a gate in the graveyard behind the chapel, which was now almost in ruins.
The snow was thick and steady. The wind was blowing mildly, but there were occasional and extremely powerful gusts. The fog was so thick, it was like walking into a wall of ice with every step. Lewis could barely see five feet in front of him, so he just looked down.
He then noticed different sets of footprints. Two were very large, like they belonged to Angels, and one was small and in between the larger footprints. He kept looking down and following the tracks. He could hear the screams of the villagers behind him. They weren’t sad screams. They were angry, full of revenge and bloodlust.
He couldn’t be bothered with that now. He needed to save the love of his life. The only love he’d ever truly known. The only thing that made him human. The only thing that kept him alive.
Karissa.
But something shocked him. A third set of footprints appeared. They were human sized. Lewis hoped to god it was Bolton, but after seeing the body in the basement—and remembering his own transformation into a Viking king named Artemis—he wasn’t taking any chances. He took off as fast as he could while still being able to follow the tracks. Then he heard three gunshots in front of him.
“Karissa?!” Lewis yelled. He took off in a sprint, for his mind and body were filled with worry.
And fury.
*
About ten minutes before, Detective Andrew Bolton was running up the stairs from the lab that led to the chapel, which at this time was still somewhat intact. Gun in his hand and ready for anything, his fill of rage was rising. Rising so much that his will to escape lowered with every step, but his will to stay and kill every single member of the cult increased.
He wanted to kill them so bad.
He got to the top of the stairs and entered the chapel. Flames roared in front of him. Large logs separated him from the back room and the main room of the chapel.
Bolton had no other choice but to run out the back. There, he saw the snow beginning to fall. The fog was not yet fully upon the village, and he was able to see three figures moving up a hill: two very tall beings with a shorter one in between them. Bolton knew it would be the Angels and Karissa.
He began to move through the graveyard but was quickly grabbed from behind by some very large hands. Then he was thrown about fifteen feet, into the side of a house that sat next to the graveyard.
Bolton let out a grunt as he collected himself and looked up at his assailant. Sure enough, it was an Angel. This one’s skin was gray, and its head featured long black strings of hair in different areas. Its eyes were large and wide open, as was its mouth, which was cut from ear to ear.
“Well, aren’t you an ugly one,” Bolton said, watching the angel move toward him as he attempted to get up. It took him a minute since he had just been thrown into a wall.
As he got about halfway to his feet, he quickly pulled out his gun and aimed at the Angel’s head. But before he could pull the trigger, the tall gray being made one quick movement and swiped the gun away. It grabbed Bolton by the neck and lifted him up off his feet. It looked Bolton deep into his eyes, but he didn’t turn away.
No, the detective looked right back into the Angel’s face. He was remined of that fateful day. How scared he had been when all of his rage disappeared after he saw the Curry family dead on the floor. But was it relief that filled his mind after the killings, or was it the joy of revenge? Bolton felt so much rage and anger, he didn’t care what happened. As far as he was concerned, everyone in that village was a member of the Curry family, and he wanted them all dead.
The Angel, still with its hand around Bolton’s neck, was caught off guard when the detective put both his hands on the Angel’s neck and began to squeeze. The gray Angel’s eyes peered down to see the hands around its neck. Bolton, gasping for air due to the large hand around his own windpipe, was still staring into the Angel’s eyes. A vein popping out of his forehead.
The Angel began to cough, then proceeded to throw Bolton into the side of the house he’d hit earlier. This time, Bolton actually went through the wall and into the house causing dust to fly into the air.
Bolton coughed and grabbed his neck as he tried to catch his breath. He looked at his hands and noticed they had black soot on them. He looked up and through the large hole in the side of the house. The gray Angel was still coughing. It looked confused. Sad, almost. When it looked up at Bolton, it had something strange on its neck.
Bolton had pressed so hard on the skinny gray neck of the Angel that his hands began to crush it. There was black ooze seeping out of its neck. Bolton used the confused state of the Angel to his advantage and ran out of the hole in the wall.
Running full speed and screaming like a banshee, he tackled the Angel to the ground. He looked the Angel in the eyes one last time before he proceeded to send a barrage of punches into the being’s gray skull until it was nothing but a black gooey mash.
After the deed was done, Bolton sat back and sighed. There was black goop all over his hands and face. He looked up into the sky for a moment and enjoyed the snowfall. He always thought he’d been scared that day when he killed the Currys. But now he realized, when he looked back at the mess he’d made, he enjoyed it. He loved it, in fact. He eradicated the evil and that made him feel… good.
Bolton then stood up and began to walk toward the hill where Karissa was with the two Angels. He was not in a hurry. Not anymore. He picked his handgun up off the snowy ground and just kept going.
He thought about the fact that his whole life had been about the cult, he just didn’t know it. The Currys were members of the cult, the members in the FBI were the ones who’d recruited him, and he was here now because of the cult. He had a wife and two daughters that he’d love to see more than anything. But in that moment, he believed it was only right to make the cult regret that they’d ever created who he became.
*
Karissa sat there on her knees, waiting. The leathery hands of the Angels gripped her shoulders. She prayed to whoever was listening that Lewis was still alive.
She remembered the day they bought their house in Portland. It was cloudy, just like usual, and Lewis woke her up with pancakes in bed that morning. He was so happy to move out of his apartment and into his life with her. Their real estate agent was extremely late to the closing, and while Karissa complained, Lewis smiled and cracked dad jokes. Karissa always thought of that memory as a bad one because they were supposed to move in by eleven that morning but didn’t even get the keys until five that evening. Now, she was thinking of that moment like it was Heaven, and she would give anything to have it back.
Her fond memories were interrupted by the sound of a building collapse. It was the chapel, and she knew it. The last place she’d seen Lewis—the last place she may ever see her husband—had just collapsed into a pile of ash and cinder.
She screamed, “Lewis!” but was stopped short by an Angel slapping her, leaving her dazed. As she looked up, she saw a figure moving in on them. The fog was still so heavy, she could barely see anything but a shape. Plus, she was still recovering from the Angel’s most recent blow. She could hear the bone-shattering screams of the villagers from down the hill.
Karissa could see the figure lifting up an arm. It was holding something. She squinted but couldn’t make it out, until she saw a flash and heard a loud pop. Blood hit her face as the Angel to the right of her dropped instantly. The one on the left let her go and began to move quickly toward the figure, who then fired two more shots. Both bullets hit the body of the Angel, but it kept its fast-paced movement toward whoever was shooting. Karissa couldn’t tell what was happening because both shapes collided in the fog.
But then, in an instant, the smaller one was thrown right toward her. It slid in the snow until it stopped at her feet.
It was Bolton.
“Hey, Karissa,” he said, smiling through the pain.
“Andrew! Are you okay?” she responded, happily helping him back up onto his feet.
“Yeah, I’m good,” he grunted as he watched the Angel walk toward him at a brisk pace. “We need to go, now.”
Before Karissa could say a word, the Angel had his disgusting, bony hands on Bolton’s neck. The tall being then lifted him up in the air. The detective tried to break the grip with his forearms but was unsuccessful. Karissa then tried to jump on the Angel’s neck, but it was useless, as the Angel threw her off with one nudge of its back. It then walked a few steps forward, still holding Bolton by the throat, until it stopped. Andrew, struggling to move, was able to look down below him. Nothing but an abyss that would lead to a hard and fatal welcome from the rock and snow below.
The Angel was standing on the cliff.
Karissa charged at the being, not aware that she was only a few feet between solid earth and death. Bolton heard her feet in the snow and could tell she was running. He tried to yell at her to stop, but the bony hands of the Angel were crushing his windpipe. She was going to die and take them all with her. Bolton closed his eyes, preparing himself for what was below.
“Karissa!” a voice yelled.
Bolton’s eyes opened wide. He saw the Angel turn its head back toward the village, and Karissa slid to a stop. Lewis appeared out of the white mist, holding a large knife. Karissa began to glow with excitement. A tear streamed down her cheek. But before any embraces were had, the Angel made a quick move, swung Bolton back on land, and forced him to his knees. Karissa was also within the Angel’s grasp, and, sure enough, the deformity grabbed her and threw her on her knees next to Bolton in one quick motion.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lewis screamed with his hands up, as if he were telling the Angel to calm down.
The angel then pulled two large rusty daggers out from its robe and put one to the side of each of its captives’ necks. It began to make a repeated and terrifying noise. It sounded like somebody attempting to breathe during a heart attack, but Lewis knew it was a noise of victory.
The Angel believed it had won.
The professor gripped the knife in his hand and figured that the Angel would kill them both. He looked at Karissa, who was staring at him with watery eyes. Then he looked at Bolton, who was daydreaming about his two daughters and the family he left behind, wondering if the Cleansing had affected them at all.
And though the evil being’s smile was permanently carved from ear to ear, Lewis knew it was actually smiling.
“Okay,” Lewis said while lowering the knife. “You win.”
“Lewis?” Karissa asked with wide eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Take me,” Lewis said, dropping his head.
“Lewis!” Karissa screamed. “Stop, I can’t lose you!”
“I’m sorry, Karissa,” he said. “I really am. But I can’t lose you either.”
Lewis looked at Bolton with intent. It was a strange look, one that Bolton hadn’t seen from Lewis before, but he knew what it meant. The detective understood and nodded his head.
“Bolton,” Lewis continued. “I need you to look after her for me. Would you do that?”
“I will.” Bolton said nodding his head.
Lewis slowly moved closer and closer to the Angel with his hands up in a non-threatening way. The Angel began to lower the rusty blades from their necks signaling it accepted Lewis’ proposal.
“NOW!” Lewis screamed instantly jumping to a sprint toward the Angel. While the ghostly being began to slide the knives across its captives’ necks, Bolton shot up and punched it square in its boney face. Lewis met the Angel at full sprint and lowered his shoulder. He was trying to truck the Angel off of the cliff. However, he was stopped short, as the Angel barely moved. Lewis bounced off of it and fell to the snowy ground.
“Shit,” Lewis said, looking up in amazement.
Karissa was no longer in the Angel’s grasp, and both she and Lewis turned to look at Bolton, who stood up and threw a punch that whipped the Angel’s face around.
Then it slowly turned back to Bolton.
Lewis knew the detective needed some help, so he stood up, took off running, and tried the shoulder tuck again. This time, the Angel dodged it and sent Lewis sliding and then balancing on the edge of the cliff.
Karissa was looking around for anything that could help. She noticed Lewis’ knife collecting snowflakes a few feet away and rushed to grab it.
Bolton received a hit with what felt like a sack of bricks to the face. The Angel cocked its arm back and hit him again; Bolton’s mouth sprayed blood onto the snow. A punch to the gut by the Angel forced the detective to his knees. It then picked up one of the daggers it had dropped in the snow and cocked its arm back, ready to strike.
Lewis regained his balance and jumped on its deformed back, attempting to stop the attack on Bolton, who was battered and bruised. The Angel quickly thwarted his plan as it whipped its body, throwing Lewis into the snow. His head knocked on something, most likely a rock, and he began to bleed.
Karissa ran at the Angel with the knife. It dodged that attack as well and pushed her onto her back. Andrew Bolton stood up and attempted one more punch, but the Angel grabbed his arm.
It then proceeded to stab him in the abdomen, then dropped him onto his back in the snow.
“NO!” Lewis screamed, wiping blood from his forehead and standing up as fast as he could. It then pulled the knife out of Bolton and turned its attention to Lewis, who was charging it head-on.
The being hit Lewis with a swipe of its large hand so fast it sent him flying. Then it started after Lewis at a brisk pace and had no intention of slowing down. Lewis spit out some blood and looked the Angel in its soulless eyes. He knew his rage wanted out. But before it could be released, a knife entered the back of the Angel, and its stomach sprayed bile and blood all over the snow. Then the Angel turned around and noticed Karissa.
The knife was still in the Angel’s back, so Lewis seized the opportunity and ran up to the tall being. He grabbed the knife, pulled it out, then proceeded to swing one final blow that was filled with rage, hate, and anger until the knife was lodged firmly in the side of the Angel’s skull.
The tall being dropped. Its body was like a curtain that had stood between Lewis and his wife. And once it fell, they both looked at each other, then began to shed tears. But before they could embrace, they ran to Bolton, who was on his knees.
The snow around him was dark red.
Karissa helped Bolton lie down again. She knelt down on one side, and Lewis took the other.
“D-d-did you get the bastard?” Bolton said, stuttering. Blood streamed down the corner of his mouth.
Lewis nodded. “We did, buddy. We got him.”
“Listen,” Bolton said, struggling to get his words out. “You don’t have a lot of time. That entire village is furious. You…you can hear them.”
Sure enough, the Nelsons heard the continuous chanting of the villagers on their way up the hill. They looked down at Bolton, who said, “You gotta go.”
“No!” Karissa said, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re coming with us. We’re going to get you out of here.”
“I can’t…” Bolton said.
“What about your family?” she asked. “They need you.”
He shook his head and looked over at Lewis. “Listen, man. I’m sorry. For everything. I…”
Lewis cut him off. “Stop, Andrew. You are a great man. You do not need to apologize for anything. Your family knows you. They know how good of a father and husband you are. They will always know.”
“We stopped this mess, Lewis. We really did.”
“We sure did, buddy. And it was because of you. You saved us, and I thank you deeply for that.” Lewis had a waterfall of tears falling from his cheeks.
Bolton grabbed Lewis’ hand and looked at him in the eyes. “I need you to tell my wife what I did. Please. Tell my daughters who their dad was.”
“Of course,” Lewis said, choked up. “I’ll make sure they know their dad was a hero.”
“The treehouse, Lewis,” Bolton said, closing his eyes. “The treehouse.”
Lewis didn’t understand. He looked at Karissa, who began to sob.
Bolton closed his eyes and imagined waking up to breakfast. His wife handing him his morning coffee and embracing him with a kiss. He was holding her in one arm and his coffee in the other as he watched his daughters play on the swing set outside of their house.
A moment of pure bliss.
And with that, Detective Andrew Bolton died in the arms of the Nelsons.