Things are gonna get dicey! (Literally, something may be diced, as in, cut into cubes!)

Betaed by the 13s! Dunno what I'd do without them!

The final sanctuary was a very tall room. It was cylindrical in shape, and perhaps eighty yards across, with multiple balconies wrapped around its central shaft. These structures were draped in rusted sheet metal and barbed wire as if the stuff were silk. Standing tall in that shaft, where any other temple might have some benevolent idol, was instead an instrument of death. No smooth guillotine or electric chair, this device embodied justice in suffering. It was tube-like, stretching from the bottom of the temple to its roof. The convict was harnessed to chains at the bottom of the tube and pulled up through its length by great gears at the top of the fixture.

If one looked up the tube's length, heated spears could be seen inset in the sides and angle downward. The lower spears just barely breached the interior surface of the device, and their glowing red metal was clearly visible from the ground; Later spears were inserted farther and farther into the device, until the final instruments would be cleaving large chunks off of anyone unfortunate enough to be drawn up inside. By that point, the heat from the spearheads alone would have been incredible.

A thick downward facing knife, not unlike the Bogeyman's blade, was suspended vertically down the top end of the tube. Rarely did any culprit survive the journey to the tip of the blade. The machine would continue to drag them ever higher, splitting their remaining husk in twain over the Great Knife, and then the chains would drag each resultant half out through two separate vents.

The precise details of the device's operation might not have been immediately apparent to Alex and Heather when the two rushed out onto separate platforms surrounding the device, but at the very least they could both tell it was Very Bad. Alex was on the ground level. He had already pocketed the cell phone, because he could hear a woman screaming. When he entered he realized the balconies above him had a 'congregation' gathered upon them, all in long robes with deep hoods.

Three cultists, high priests and priestesses, encircled the base of the device. One wore the pristine white robes and red hood with a black cross that signified a Priest of Valtiel. Another was a scowling woman who, on first impression, seemed to embody the essence of the modern stay-at-home mom. Her short dark blonde hair was neatly combed, straight, and clipped neatly and unadorned to one side. She had modest earrings, blue jeans, and an unflattering blouse that hid a little bit of belly fat and stretch marks. She held the red tome of the Sect of the Holy Mother.

The third cultist was almost androgynous and identifiable as male only because he lacked breasts. His hair was long, black, and curled, and his drab-colored but heavily layered clothing looked like it ought to have belonged on a Romanian woman. His expression was aloof, powerful, and smug. The three were each standing on an interior circle of the Halo of the sun, painted round the base of the device, and although this symbol should have afforded each participant equal standing, the other two knew who was truly in power; They feared, loved, and resented him for it.

"You're insane! This is evil- all of you, you're insane! Can't you even tell this is wrong!?" a blond woman was screaming above their chanted murmurs The androgynous man turned a patient gaze onto the Priest of Valtiel, who jabbed her hard on the solar plexus with the butt of his own spear. Elle crumpled, the wind knocked out of her, sagging. They had harnessed her body to the machine, wrapping chains around her arms, her shoulders, hips, thighs, and ankles.

"To God's judgment, we send this sinner. She has refused to see the light; refused to partake that most sacred of God's mercies, in repentance, in sacrificing to God's healing light. She has refused the tender face of her own mother. Rise up now, sinner, rise up and behold God's justice-"

"ELLE!"

At forty yards, post haste, with Elle just beside and partially occluded by the cultists, it ought to have been an excruciatingly risky, if not impossible shot. Alex took it anyway, tucking his head against the gun, aiming, and firing almost immediately.

The Priest of Valtiel lurched forward, leaning heavily on his spear as he half staggered, half fell to his knees.

A shock rushed through the assembled cultists, and the other two cult leaders spun towards him, quite surprised by his sudden appearance. Alex took a step forward, aiming his gun straight at the second of the cultists, the androgynous man. Then suddenly something lashed forward and seized the soldier about the legs, yanking them together with a snap and toppling his center of balance. Alex fell backwards with an oath. He barely had a second to register the impact, but then he didn't have to; firmly entrenched instincts kicked in, directing his rifle towards the source of the danger.

There were scrolls bound tightly about his legs like the linen wraps of a mummy, and they dragged him sharply off towards the side of the sanctuary.

Heather emerged on the second to topmost balcony of the Sanctuary. She was high above the cultists, and with the machinery but one floor ahead, she couldn't see or hear much. She did hear Alex shout for Elle and her blood turned cold. She had to get down there somehow! She looked frantically around for ladders or staircases. There was a staircase that spiraled around the inside of the Sanctuary, though it followed the outer circumference of the room. Heather didn't know if she could reach the ground in time to help anyone.

Her thoughts of descending the structure vanished when she heard a muffled whine from nearby, and she turned around, looking for the source of the noise. There was a dais seated to the south of the structure, with a large circular plate seated in the wall behind it. The plate was adorned with the Seal of the Sect's most holy of angels. Two beautiful angelic statues of white marble stood on either side of it, their faces covered by real red hoods, each carrying an executioner's spear.

Angels? Damn it, why did the cult never make sense? Why were its symbols not congruent, even from one part of a temple to the other? Alex had once told Heather that Margaret Holloway had spoken thus: "She still believes there are things such as good and evil. But there aren't. There is only order and chaos." But which did the Order believe in? Order? Or Chaos?

Maybe she was thinking too deeply. This was the Otherworld, after all-

Heather froze. Tethered to the ground by the wrists between the two enormous sculptures was a huddled figure Heather immediately recognized, the marks on his shoulder echoing the giant Seal behind him. When he saw he had her attention he whimpered again; in response something around his waist suddenly constricted. His body contorted, curling further up on itself in pain; Heather heard ribs cracking.

What. The. Hell.

She ran towards him, katana in hand. When she was only a few yards away the angel statues began to crack and chip. Heather tried to keep them in mind as she dropped to her knees before the captured angel.

"Valtiel!" she whispered horrified. He was completely curled up on himself; his back bowed almost in the fetal position, his head curled under his chest, the intricate laces of his smock stretching across his frame. She reached out hesitantly, touching his back and shoulders, not sure what to do. He shifted just a little, lifting his head to 'look' up at her. He looked almost as pathetic as he had that day in her studio. What the hell? What the hell?!

"I'm here!" she gasped, touching his face and shoulders, noting the new scrapes and bruises mottling his cheeks and arms, and a new thick slice down his left forearm. "I'm here, I'll get you free!" He didn't make a noise for fear of being torn in half; merely stared at her. Heather tried to figure out what was holding him down and then saw what appeared to be paper tightly wrapped about his wrists and waist. She was baffled for a second before she recognized them as scrolls. The tips of the long papyrus disappeared through the grating of the metal dais, spiraling down into the floors below. For a creature who could have torn the dais itself to shreds with his fingertips, Valtiel looked utterly and completely trapped.

She grabbed up her katana and pressed it against the binds on his wrists, but he made a breathy gasp of panic. Heather paused and looked at him. He couldn't speak, and he barely had a face, but something passed between them in that moment; Heather was certain if she cut the scrolls, something very bad was going to happen.

The angles were crackling, marble fragments falling all around them. Heather winced up at them. The arms, legs, wings, and presumably faces of the statues were mostly unblemished and starting to twitch, but the abdomens were now stripped of marble 'skin'. Each angel's torso was an open cadaver; pregnant and filled with lumps and tumors. Heather had seconds to decide on a course of action.

The Mason girl placed a hand on Valtiel's shoulder blade almost protectively for a moment; then she turned back towards the angel, grasped his ovoid face between her hands, kissed the brow, and cradled him against her for just a second. "I won't leave you," she swore. The angel stared up at her in adoration and horror. She drew out her katana and stood as the huge statues took their first steps, each swiveling about to face her. Their ribs hinged opened, and dozens of tiny child-like hands reached out from the puckered tumors and from the swollen wombs, grabbing towards her.

Alex fired on the scrolls that were dragging him. There were two of them, and they writhed in the dimly lit air ahead of him, but he took each shot and fired it. A bullet tore through one, then through the other, and suddenly he was free, and the paper around his legs was no more than paper. He tore it vigorously away from himself, clambering to his knees. Then the two scrolls suddenly lashed forward again. They hit with surprising force, or at least with agility. The first one sliced open his shoulder like a razor blade as he tried to duck, the other wrapped around his gun barrel and jerked the weapon from his grasp.

Alex swore, diving for the gun, but the scrolls grasped him by one leg and hoisted him up into the air. He reached behind him, grabbing for his combat blade-

"This one too must have the opportunity to repent," said a soft voice, a masculine voice. Alex looked towards the speaker and realized it was the androgynous man. He had moved from his position at the Halo of the Sun, and was watching Alex with soft eyes, eyes that didn't bother to conceal a predatory interior. He leaned over to place a hand on the shoulder of The Priest of Valtiel. The latter was clutching at the bloody wounds in his torso but somehow was still alive, still kneeling, leaning heavily on his spear.

"Let her go!" Alex shouted.

"She is being returned to her God's justice as an unbeliever," the man said to Alex. Then, to the injured Priest, "can you rise, my friend? The Goddess requires an avatar of her Judge to complete this ceremony."

The Priest of Valtiel grasped his spear tighter, but could not rise; could not even begin to. His breaths were coming in harsh rasps.

The man stood, nodding quietly. "Very well." He turned his gaze into the darkness, off to the side of the sanctuary where it appeared the scrolls had emerged from.

A woman stepped out of the darkness just then- or at least, she appeared to be a woman. At first sight, Alex could not help but feel that something was very wrong, very unnatural about her. She was tall, intimidating, wearing something of a leather veil or habit that covered her eyes, peaked over the crown of her head, and reached back to cover her hair. Scars trailing down her cheeks suggested she had no eyes. Her lips were full and red. Bands of leather were wrapped carefully around the rest of her body, ensuring every joint was fully mobile. The bits of skin that were left exposed were cracked and scarred where they came near the leather. Wrapped about her torso and drifting behind her like flags, streamers, or wings were the scrolls. She was their source; they seemed to be spun from her leather garments. in fact, her outfit was covered in red runes, inscriptions, and sigils, all of which appeared to be bleeding.

She moved slowly and purposefully towards the collapsed priest, taking small steps. She did not speak a word, did not acknowledge anyone present. The ground rotted underneath her footsteps, and Alex watched helplessly as she walked directly in front of a terrified Elle. She did not 'look' down at the injured priest. One of her scrolls twisted forward, coiling slowly into a rope-like shape. It hovered over the High Priest, giving him one last chance to rise; then it came down and alighted on his masked forehead.

The world shuddered. There was an ominous groan of metal, torturous, loud. The balcony was rumbling. Then steel pipes and sheets of metal were winding up from the ground, wrapping around the dying Priest, contracting around his hood, his head. For a moment, the man remained human- hurt, but alive. Then his flesh began to bloom, his bones to crack. The metal rushed over him, contracted, shaped itself, and the man was screaming, screaming, screaming, and the screams were growing lower, more brutal.

Alex's jaw dropped. He gaped in horror as a monstrous thing rose up in the High Priest's place, hoisting up the Executioner's spear. Though something like Alex's Bogeyman or James' Red Pyramid, it had a much smaller, close-fitting, human-like helmet. It's body was slightly melted as if it had been wax held too close to the fire, and its legs were burnt and charred and falling apart, like roots oozing into the metal work beneath it. It felt incomplete and maybe it was, but that didn't make it any less horrible.

"Who the hell are you!?" Alex exclaimed.

"I am Edwin," The androgynous man answered, "and I have come to reunite all the faithful in honor of her glorious name." He turned from Alex then and smiled almost affectionately at the scroll-wrapped woman.

"You are hurt, my lovely Xipe," he purred to her, reaching out gently to touch one of her scrolls. Alex saw they were the ones he had shot through. "You know you are too precious, too divine, to be poisoned by the touch of the faithless. Release him. Our friend will see that justice is done. You must have the blasphemer's stench bathed from you." He looked to the newly created Judge, who was waiting patiently for its orders, its back bowed under the great suffering of its existence. "Begin the sacrifice."

Alex grabbed the combat knife and brought it across the scrolls binding him with a ferocious swing. Xipe turned towards Alex, but Edwin shook his head in the soldier's direction and took her gently by the arm, pulling her backwards. The scowling housewife, presumably High Priestess of the Holy Mother Sect, followed after them. The Executioner swiveled towards Alex, bellowing low.

Alex grabbed his shotgun from his shoulder. He was trying to decide what target to aim for- the Pyramid Thing looked stationary and perhaps not the biggest threat- when it suddenly lifted its spear and slammed the butt down hard against the ground. A tinny metal noise ruptured outward from the source, knocking Alex back on his rear and thundering up the length of the Sanctuary. Somewhere high above them, gears began to turn.

Elle screamed; the harness had begun tugging her upwards. Alex's eyes opened wide.

"ELLE!"

This was some of the fanciest footwork Heather had ever done in her life. Back and forth she moved, stepping over the crumpled body coiled up upon the dais, skirting round him, dodging spears left, diverting them right. She had gotten one solid strike on the left angel's internals when the two had first lunged for her, and was waiting for the rib cage to open again.

Silent Hill didn't disappoint her. The ribs on both monsters gaped open. Heather lunged for the left one, drawing her katana down with both hands in a vertical strike over the tiny grasping arms blooming from within. The statue shrieked and rocked backwards, collapsing into rocky fragments. Heather used her momentum and spun around, delivering an upwards strike to the other statue's rib cage.

"Leave!" she shouted, at the angel, rolling underneath another spear blow. "My!" It stabbed down at her, Heather jumped backwards and out of the way. "Angel!" The ribs opened, the thing leaned forward and screamed at her, its spear coming around for a wide spring. Heather jumped at it, bringing the sword down with all the force she could manage, drawing the hilt back for the perfect slice. The monster's internals ruptured open and it collapsed. "ALONE!"

Valtiel was trembling when she returned to his side, his breath coming rapid and shallow. Heather dropped her sword with a completely unprofessional clatter, grasping at his shoulders. "What do I do?" she pleaded with him. "How do I get you out?"

The monster tried to look at her, but his restraints tightened and he made an agonized, painfully sharp intake of breath.

This wasn't right! This was a temple for the Sect of Valtiel! The symbol on the rear of the dais was his symbol, the Seal of the Metatron! Why was he bound in this place? Why was it torturing him?! Was it Valtiel's symbol? If it belonged to him, if it were his insignia of power, why was he branded with it? Brands indicated ownership, not identity!

Heather hesitated. Then her eyes widened and she gave a gasping shudder as some strange instinct wormed through her. She reached into her pocket, grabbing at the talisman therein, remembering the description she'd once come upon for it. It was given the name Seal of the Metatron because of its difficulty to control.

The Pyramid Head. The Locked Door. Heather hadn't found the correct 'key' to open up that door. That room was not supposed to have existed. The Pyramid Thing had come into existence the instant she'd opened the door, already in a state of undress, through dream logic, through Silent Hill, through her subconscious. But that room, that room had suddenly existed because she had needed it to!

Valtiel wailed at her in agony. Heather lifted her head to look at him again and then threw one arm about him, clutching her own Seal in that hand and reaching towards the inscribed plate behind him with the other. The world shuddered in response to something going on beneath them on the first floor, but Heather ignored it. Her eyes narrowed in focus; then there was a bright, red-hot flash and the scrolls binding her companion were burning away, hissing violently, smoke and ash rippling up from them. The lengths zigzagged through the air like injured appendages. Her fingers clenched into the dais symbol and the papers withdrew entirely, lighting up like the tail ends of lit cigarettes.

Valtiel trembled, sagging into her. He moved slowly, gingerly, easing his arms around her shoulders. Heather trembled. The world came back to her. She jerked back from the Seal plate as if burned by it, and dropped the talisman she held in her other hand. Her weight rolled back on her heels and she dripped away from her companion, her fingers clutching at the ground, her body shaking. She stared at her fingertips for a moment and then weakly lifted her head again, looking at him.

"What did I do?" she sobbed, begged; tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "What just... how... how did...? Who...?" Her voice was cracking. "Who am I?"

Although he was badly injured and Heather was mostly unscathed, it was the Metatron who reached out to her, clutched at her, pulled her tenderly up against him. He wanted to offer more support, to gather her up in his arms, but it was the best he could do to hold her against his chest and rest his weight on her, his chin atop the crown of her head. His breathing came shallow and pained, and though he tried to purr for her, the sound came out broken and wheezing. Heather shuddered, overwhelmed by the enormousness of things she did not truly want to understand. The only thing real enough, the only thing she could truly face in that moment, were the horrible purple bruises wrapped about her angel's midsection.

Something had hurt him. Twice now. That was enough to get her temper burning.

There was a feminine scream from below. Elle. Heather shuddered, pulling slightly away from the Metatron and looking desperately at the death-dealing machine behind her. The gears above them were moving, and the chains rattled as they dragged Elle Holloway ever higher. "We have to stop it," she croaked. The angel gently squeezed her shoulder. She looked back up at him and noticed he was scanning the balcony just above them. His gaze turned to the rear wall and he made as if to reach for it, to climb it. He nearly fell over, and Heather had to catch him.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed at him. "Look at yourself, you're hurt! You're not going anywhere without me! If something happened- if I lost you-"

The angel looked at her, and a moment passed between them in which Heather realized the angel was confused, and did not understand what she was saying.

Heather shook her head and pushed herself back up to her knees, and then to a crouch, all while helping to support him. Then, with his weight leaning against her, she took his face in both hands again, and pressed her nose and forehead to where his would be if he were human. "You are mine," she whispered to him. "My angel, My family, My friend. I love you. I don't want to lose you. You are not just any old wall-climbing faceless boogieman. You are not replaceable. You are my Valtiel."

A coo gushed out past his busted ribs. He clutched at her, trying frantically not to twitch out from under her touch. Then she kissed him and he hugging against her, trembling violently and helplessly into the embrace.

Alex was shouting; the Executioner below them roared; Elle screamed again. Valtiel squeezed her shoulder because Alex wasn't having luck stopping the Executioner, and Heather needed to move if there was to be any chance of saving Elle.

Heather nodded and pulled one of his arms completely about her shoulder, easing him slowly to his feet. Valtiel staggered slightly and leaned very heavily into her side, his face brushing up against her own. "Do we have to get up there?" she asked, looking towards the higher balcony. Valtiel nodded. "I wish I could carry you," she muttered, looking at the staircase that wrapped up to the next level. It wasn't that far. "Hold tight."

The second time the Bogeyman slammed the butt of its spear to the ground, it knocked Alex back again. He was left wondering if the situation was hopeless; how was he going to be able to fight the thing if he barely had time to stand? Then he heard Elle shriek as the machine redoubled its pace.

There wasn't time for doubt.

Alex didn't try to stand when the ground stop shaking. He lifted up the shotgun and braced it against his knee, aiming. The Bogeyman lifted up its arms, inhaled deep, and Alex fired a round directly into its gut. The creature jerked with the force of the blow, reeling back on its hips and losing its momentum for the next slam. Alex rolled to his feet, fired another shot, and another, not sure what to aim for. It seemed to weather these blows comfortably, unbothered by them, and instead loosed an inky black vapor in Alex's direction. That was new. The soldier swore and rolled out of the way, charging towards his rifle.

The Executioner stood up straight and began inhaling, lifting up his spear. Alex paused just outside the cloud, whirling towards the monster, aiming straight for the core of its body. He fired. The creature reeled backwards again. Alex ignored the rifle, now running straight for the Executioner.

It blew out black fog. Elle shrieked. Alex grabbed on to a pillar of metal, yanking himself out of the way of the poisonous fumes. It inhaled. He fired. It staggered, and he charged. As he reached it, it swung at him with its spear and he unsheathed his combat knife. The shotgun only looked to have temporarily winded it.

"Alex! ALEX!"

She knew he was there! "Elle!" he pled, dodging a stab of the spear, carving a slice into its torso. "Hold on!" The spear swung around wide, catching Alex's shoulder and sending him flying back to the ground. No time. He kicked up and then swore violently when he realized the thing was at the peak of an inhale. He fired. It brought its spear down, the earth trembled, and the machinery sped up.

For someone who could not support his own weight, Valtiel was still amazingly strong. He had healed a little in the short distance up to the next balcony, but still could not stand without her help. When he and Heather reached the top floor, he gestured for her to help him over to where some massive cogs were working. Heather was slightly confused, as no valves, levers, or other forms of control were in sight, but she helped him limp over and then settled him down. She watched the Metatron worm one arm under a lip of steel and then, to her horror, he reached straight into the moving machinery and grabbed the edge of a gear.

Pectoral muscles, biceps, everything flexed. The cog ground to a halt, pressing against the Metatron's unbelievably strong grasp. Valtiel shifted his weight and a spasm of pain caused him to slip an inch. He growled in frustration, pressing his weight hard into the machinery and then whining when his abdominal muscles, his core, could not help him.

Heather looked around frantically for some means to stop the machine. Elle was starting to sound hysterical, gasping and screaming and thrashing within the tube. Heather looked frantically around. A small alcove called her attention to the southern end of the balcony again, and she darted for it. There was an altar there, along with four tablets and four spears.

Heather suppressed a low moan, staring at the puzzle with anxious horror. She tried to read the words, but her brain was panicked by Elle's hellish screaming. Then a loud and violent growl echoed over from across the balcony. Heather lifted her head and saw her Metatron watching her, his hands stuffed desperately into the giant machine, doing everything in his power to keep it from turning any further. On Elle's behalf; On Heather's.

Something had hurt him.

Heather looked down at the tablets, her eyes scanning over their lines of violent prose, and realized each and every one of them was asking a personal question. She lifted her gaze. Not personal to her; Personal to the victim. Questions she had heard the answers to, over long and excruciatingly painful luncheons where Alex Shepherd had gone on and on and on about his childhood exploits.

She grabbed one of the spears and pulled.

The Executioner's spear vanished from his hand and the machinery stopped moving upward. The screaming had stopped. Alex saw this and more or less roared at the monster, diving at its midsection. It grabbed clumsily for him, then jerked violently as he stabbed deep into its belly. He tore across its belly with a wide sweep, eviscerating it.

The creature reeled backwards and then collapsed. Above him, the machinery started operating again. Alex whispered a frantic 'no!' and rushed towards the shaft. Then he realized the gears were operating in reverse. The chains were descending back towards the ground through the tube. It was over; the trap had been beaten before it reached the Bogeyman's knife.

"Elle!" he called. "Elle? Elle!" No response greeted him, and a cold chill ran over his body. The trap hadn't reached the knife, not by a long shot, but it had still risen very high. "ELLE!" he all but screamed.

Uh oh, Heather. Looks like the Forces-That-Be intended you to head straight for that puzzle. You um... you might not want to tell Alex that you were rescuing a half-Alessa-delusion-half-evil-god when you were supposed to be rescuing his childhood BFF. Just... just sayin'