Disclaimer: I Do Not own Silent Hill. I'm Just Messing Around With It.
Author's Note: Thanks everyone who reviewed, Your the best. I'm going to apologize to you in advance. It takes awhile for me to complete a chapter, I have to re-write certain paragraphs before I'm happy with it. So, prepare yourself for a bit of a wait.
Also to avoid confusion, when I write "Him" or "Her", I'm referring to the main characters in this story. Lower case versions are used to represent minor roles. If I've forgotten to capitalize some, do let me know. (Thanks Blood-Stained Marionette, I didn't realize.)
I'm not going to name the OC, because then there has to be a description. I hate that. I'd much prefer it for you to imagine what they might look like.
On a lighter note, I present to you Chapter Two.
Enjoy.
Chapter Two
She had heard His approach. The soft thudding of His boots, the deafening scrape of His weapon. Her body tenses as She slowly raises Her eyes to meet His. The first thing that garnish's Her attention is the pyramid shaped helmet sits seldom upon His shoulders. She takes a small step away from His opposing figure. Small whimpers escape as Her eyes trail over His bloody torso, finally stopping at the Great Knife laying lax at His side.
Was He going to kill Her?
She watch's as He slowly raises His arm, high above His head. A stray beam of light reflecting from the metal shrapnel. She closes Her eyes in anticipation. As the blade swings down, the piercing wail of a siren echo's through the surrounding streets.
Her eyes spring open, fixing upon His frozen form. His arm, grasping His mighty weapon, starts to tremble. She watch's in awe as His mighty physique starts to crumble and float away with the morning breeze.
When the darkness recedes and the light approaches, all that remains is the fragment of a breeze and the distinct smell of death.
-----
He was livid.
He was so close to plunging his weapon deep into Her soft, warm flesh. That was not to be. For He was careless. He should have smelt the dawn approach. Should have felt it worm deep beneath His skin, warning Him of the light.
But no.
He had been so caught up in the chase.
Her scent.
In Her.
The darkness shudders around Him, sensing His anger. He takes a deep calming breath and releases it as a distorted hiss. The anger dissipates for a split second.
When the day ends and the night begins, the darkness will rise.
As He tilts His face up, we imagine a sickening sneer take over His features. For He knows that it is only a few hours till sunset. Only a few hours till the darkness. Only a few hours for Her to live.
With that satisfying knowledge. He plunges His weapon deep within the earth and waits.
-----
She stands where He crumbled. Looking down at Her feet, there is no sign He was even there. No prints of His boots in the ash. No groove from His knife. Nothing. It's as if He didn't exist at all. She turns, the gray-child has vanished with the dark as well.
She takes to wondering the abandoned streets. Her movements, quick and skittish, reveal Her tension. Every ten paces She looks back, watching the shadows for any sign of the awaiting abyss.
Fatigue begins to set in. Her feet begin to drag. The slump of Her shoulders becomes more pronounced. She needs to find some place where she can rest. Some place safe.
A soft breeze shifts through Her hair, a comforting caress in the still. It whispers to Her, urging Her onwards. In the distance She see's the outline of a church. The outline of a sanctuary.
The stone steps leading towards the great oak doors, appear old and worn. Pieces of stone, chiseled away with time, had once seen the coming and going of a bursting community. High glass windows, sitting upon the ash-stained walls, reflect what little light escape the gray sky. A symbol, resting upon the roof, watch's the world from above. A symbol of faith.
She ascends the stone steps, a feeling of wrongness consumes the air. It grows with each footfall, the crescendo of an opera, reaching it's peak. And as She reaches for the brass handle, the doors slowly creaks open. A man stands in Her way, His dark hair obscures His features. His head tilts to the side, listening to something coming from within. He looks down at Her, ponders for a moment before standing aside. Welcoming Her in.
-----
A deafening roar echo's amongst the damned. They shrivel and slink away, hoping to avoid the angry executioner. He had sensed the exact moment She entered the faux church. She had walked straight into the arms of the deceivers.
As the night draws closer, anticipation settles deep within, bursting to be free. He longs to feel the heat of crimson, the taste of metallic on His tongue. The satisfying crunch brought on by His own hands.
He breathes deep. He can taste the change in the air.
The darkness is coming.
-----
The air smells stale.
Dead.
Someone coughs, small murmurs and scuffles erupt among the inhabitants. They're eyes, dull and unnerving, silently watch Her. She feels as if She's is being dissected and examined.
She turns from their questioning gaze and takes in Her surroundings. Old wooden pews occupy most of the floor space. Many are filled with those deep in pray. Her eyes linger upon them, they seem wrong somehow. Like they don't belong.
A deep-set circle sits with in the church center. What's it's purpose? A balcony over looks the interior, casting looming shadows across the stone floor. The high glass windows seem lifeless and dull in the meek light.
A woman, standing tall and proud, watch's Her with cold calculating eyes.
"I am Christabella. And we welcome you into our sanctuary."
A man nudges Her towards the center, closer to the one named Christabella. Arms wide, she places them upon Her shoulders. In soft, calming voice she speaks.
"Do you have faith?"
"Faith?" She shakes Her head. "No. Why?"
"Our faith keeps the darkness of hell at bay."(1)
"Where am I?"
"Safe. Safe from the Demon's and Their wicked lies. Here you are amongst true believers of the faith."
A siren begins to wail.
"We must pray."(2)
Christabella releases Her shoulders and enters the deep circle. With her head bowed she waits for the others. Those standing begin to kneel, hands clasped, eyes closed. They sit still and wait for Christabella to lead them into pray.
"And I saw the dead, great and small,
standing before the throne, and books were opened
and each person was judged according to what he had done.
If anyone's name was not found written in the
book of life, he was thrown into the lake of fire"(3)
She wonders from their kneeling forms, the window demands Her attention. As their words fade from Her hearing, She watch's safely from behind the glass as the darkness consumes the surrounding streets, corroding and twisting the faded memories. And as it reaches the stone steps, She see's Him.
His towering physique gaining body and strength from the approaching abyss.
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(1 - 2) Christabella,Silent Hill Movie, 2006.
(3) Revelations 20:12-15.
