A/N – After trawling through my old VCDs, I watched Hellraiser again and the creative juices started flowing once more. Switching to a 3rd person viewpoint for the rest of the story…Short chapter to start off with again
Chapter 4 – Time
4 years later
Weihan ran – and ran hard.
For four years he had been doing this. Playing a cat and mouse game with the demonic entities known as the Cenobites. Watched as his friends were torn apart or brutally tortured and raped in front of his eyes. He had won a few battles against them though and slain a few of the demonic beasts. The Lament Configuration had given him Hell – but it had also given him release. It had single handedly led to the destruction of nearly all of what he called the "First Gen". The First Gen were of course the Original Chatterer, the Female and the bloated Butterball. He had watched them as they "died" – feeling inner warmth as they left the world.
The years had not been kind to him. Somehow, the Cenobites had learnt of what he was planning to do – go into Hell itself and destroy the Leviathan. Pinhead had been smart. He had used most of his arcane magik to seal the doorway into Hell – barring Weihan from entering. It also had a reverse effect – just as Weihan could not go in, they could not harness their Lord's power as well. Weihan thought that this was a fair trade-off. After countless hours, he had tracked down the writer of the Prophecy – the twisted and gnarled remains of the Channard Cenobite. The "good" doctor had gleefully informed him that he had written the Prophecy as a joke. That there was no stopping their reign.
After days of torture, however, Channard had cracked…or cracked more. He had said that while the Prophecy itself was a sham, the Chosen One existed. Whether or not it was Weihan, he didn't know. He had been too busy mumbling about Sabres and Power Spheres to be of any further use. Weihan didn't know what would happen next. According to his other research, the Cenobites – once cut off from their diabolical master – would rape the world and reshape it into their own image.
They had already ravaged Australia. They had spread their vile influence across the wide continent, "purifying" all in their wake. Those who didn't escape the first time were condemned to live in fear. The rest were either dead or transformed into mindless Cenobites. Bec had taken her own life – unable to keep up with the death and destruction all around her. Weihan, himself, had barely escaped the "Day of Chains" as it was now called. He had stolen a boat and – despite having no experience on how to sail – had sailed to Malaysia. They had followed him with their razor chains and brutal blows. Chatterer, Butterball and the Female had met their end in Malaysia – dealt the hand of Death by Weihan himself.
He was running now. Running hard across the barren landscape of Malaysia, a backpack on his back containing what he had left…which wasn't much. He sneaked a peek over his shoulder. Nothing there – but not for long. He had to make it to his safe house. He had enspelled the area with protection spells and wards – artifacts that he had uncovered in his travels. He ran faster and harder than anything. He spied his safe-house in the distance – a small, squat one roomed shack. He wrenched open the door and slammed it on three hooked chains.
He sighed. He was safe…
For now…
TBC…hopefully.