Petre awoke to the chirping of birds, sunlight hitting his eyes. Groaning, he rustled in the bedsheets until he stopped; realizing where he was, a place he knew all too well. Home, with the same old red carpet, papers laying everywhere, and the same familiar brown walls.
"What happened?" Muttered Petre to himself as he rose from the bed. The last thing he remembered was waiting on Gael to get lost in thought, but, no matter how long he waited, Gael kept watching him. Petre must have dozed off or something. But that didn't explain how he got back here.
Cautiously he looked about the room, carefully pushing off the old sheets as he rose out of the bed. Instinctively Petre looked down, and to his relief, he was still in his old clothes. So far nothing seemed to have been done to him, but just in case, he needed to check one more thing.
Petre looked to the side of his bed where there was an old wardrobe. Opening one of the drawers, Petre saw that his other set of clothes were still in the wardrobe. However, the clothes were not what he was looking for. Now searching through the drawers, Petre opened them up one by one until finally, he opened an almost empty drawer with a single hand mirror inside it. The mirror once belonged to his mother.
He pulled out the mirror and sighed with relief. The mirror's cracked reflection was still like how it used to be, but even still he could see his reflection. And from what Petre could tell, nothing was done to him. Though his gut was now telling him something was off. But what was it?
Turning around and heading to the door, Petre opened it with a loud creak and entered the hallway.
He could still remember it, his home. The well-kept rooms, the smell of food made by his father, and their conversations. He missed those days. Sometimes he wished he could undo all the wrong he did and go back to them.
But that was the past.
Petre saw that not even the hallway had changed since that day; bottles and papers lying about the floor, and torn symbols of the chief god either barely holding to the wall, or simply laying on the floor. All of this and how small the hallway was, forced Petre to slowly traverse the hall; careful not to trip, slip, or potentially hurt himself.
Halfway through, Petre froze in place as he turned to gaze at an opened door beside him. Petre had not gone into that room in a long time, but maybe he could look inside this once. Just to satiate his curiosity. It was his home after all. Stretching his arm out, Petre hovered his hand over the door handle.
But the moment his hand got close to touching the bronze knob, Petre stopped; hesitantly bringing back his hand. Perhaps it was better he didn't check. There was no need to look anyway. Instead, he looked away and continued through the hallway, eventually entering the only other room remaining.
Unlike many priests of the Order, his father didn't live in any luxurious home. No, he lived in a small cottage in the city; believing that only the home of the chief god deserved to be looked upon. He was like that in everything, a true and humble saint in every way.
Sometimes he wished he could've been like that. But he knew better, he was not deserving to even be considered that.
Like the rest of the house papers, bottles, and torn symbols of the chief god laid about the room. However, the ripped empty covers of books layed here as well, along with flipped tables, chairs, pots, pans, and other things. The fireplace had long since died out. It was still a mess.
Faintly, Petre heard a muffled sound on the other side of the main door. It almost sounded as though someone was preaching a sermon. Slowly, he approached the door and with a heave, he flung it open.
No matter what happened, his father tried to help everyone. Even when it wasn't good for his health, he sometimes would spend time overnight to help even the most repulsive-looking beggars. Rich or poor, weak or strong, none of it mattered to him. And even when Petre was consumed by his own sin, his father tried to save him.
If only he wasn't so kind-hearted.
Petre squinted, his eyes blinded for a moment by the light. Thankfully, It didn't take long for his eyes to adapt to the light; But when they did, he knew wherever he was, it was not the real world.
It was because of the sky, which, well, was a shade of violet instead of the normal blue of human territory or the greens and purples of demon realms. That was not all though, the sun as well was different. He could actually look at it, and it was just a yellow circle. Though something about it seemed odd, of what he wasn't certain.
Suddenly, Petre heard the sound of a bottle gently rolling across the stone road, causing him to come out of his staring. Though he didn't see what caused the noise, what he did see made him realize why his gut wasn't feeling well about this.
On every corner, and every spot imaginable next to the road, were countless taverns; each and everyone one of them looking like carbon copies of each other. And in all of them, Petre could hear the faint sound of yelling and bottles smashing.
Deciding not to go back inside, or stare at the sun, Petre began walking toward his left; checking each of the doors to see if they would open. However, no matter how hard he tried, and no matter how many doors he checked, they wouldn't open. Eventually, he stopped bothering and just walked. But even then, no matter how far he walked, there was nothing but taverns.
He was young and ignorant then.
Thinking he could be like his father; going to the taverns and managing to convince drunks and harlots to leave their past lives behind and join the church. But he was not like his father. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how long he kept going, none of them listened nor were swayed by his words.
Eventually, in defeat, he prayed to the chief god for anything, something to allow him to change these peoples hearts. Little did he know others were listening in.
A single bottle rolled out of a nearby tavern, a lone cat walking beside it. At first, the cat did not even look towards him. But when Petre called out to it, it turned sharply toward Petre; its golden eyes almost staring in his soul as it walked by. Then, as it walked to the tavern on the other side, it walked straight through the door.
Baffled, Petre rushed to the same door. But again, no matter how hard he tried the door would not budge. In defeat, Petre went back on the road with no end to the taverns insight.
Petre walked for what felt to be another hour, and still no sign of anything changing with the same old taverns. That is until he heard it again; the familiar sound of someone preaching.
Slowly he stopped and looked toward where he heard the sound. And right beside him, he saw something that gave him a sense of nostalgia. It was the church his father was the priest of. And surprisingly enough, it still looked beautiful. Like how it used to be with its white walls, its red double door entrance, its looming structure, and golden decoration. And at the very top, the symbol of the chief god.
Taking a step up the stairs, Petre walked toward the red doors; the faint and muffled sound of preaching slowly becoming louder and clearer. "You're not going to get anywhere doing that," Interrupted a feminine voice, causing Petre to turn around.
On the other side of the road and leaning against the open door of a tavern, a woman dressed in robes stood there. Her only visible feature, her golden eyes staring at him. "What do you mean?" Asked Petre.
The woman walked towards Petre, her face still concealed to him as she approached saying, "This place, we can fix this. All you have to do is," She pulled out a golden chalice from beneath her robe and held it out towards Petre, "Is drinking with me."
Petre stood there, frozen.
Then one day his prayer was answered. And like the fool he was, he sold his soul without even knowing it.
"Sure. It's just a one-time thing anyway... right?" Asked Petre, words coming out of his mouth without even thinking. Gingerly Petre grabbed the chalice, and with slight hesitation, started to bring the chalice to his lips. But suddenly, he stopped and looked back to the church. And there standing at the now open red gates, was an old man in order robes, shaking his head no to Petre.
"Go ahead," said the woman again.
Petre looked at the chalice and thought for a moment. What was he doing? This already happened. Granted not as odd as this but still, it happened. Maybe this time he could turn her down, right? He just. Petre was interrupted as he realized his body started to move on its own and began drinking the chalice. The strange contents poured into his mouth as the chalice blocked his vision.
Then as he emptied the chalice and brought it down, he realized the woman was gone. Turning to the church, the doors were closed and the man was gone as well as the sound of the preaching. Looking back towards the taverns, he realized what else had changed.
Somehow, someway, the taverns now were far more decorated and gilded with gold as yellow light shined out of their windows. In fact, they almost like churches of their own with drunken laughter, cheer and preaching within each of them. Looking down, Petre quickly realized the golden chalice was gone as well.
His gut started to turn again, making him feel uneasy about this. But he tried to ignore it. Again he went to the taverns and tried to open the door to one of the church-like taverns.
This time, however, they actually opened; revealing a bustling church of drunkenness and partying. But oddly enough, he did not feel like joining them. So he closed the door and turned around.
The church was gone, and there was nothing but a black empty hole. Petre went over and tried to see if there was a bottom, but there was nothing but a black hole; leaving him no choice but to keep walking on through the endless road of taverns.
He noticed the roads had changed as well with countless bottles laying at the side. It was almost like a forest of bottles at this point.
For another hour he walked, nothing new happening; the taverns stretching for seemingly for miles. Petre did admit it was a better site than before, but his gut told him something was still wrong. Save for at the church or within the taverns, he had not yet seen anyone. Made him feel alone, walking in a ghost town.
Suddenly such loneliness changed as in the distance was a lone bird, silently watching him with an empty stare like the cat. Even as Petre called out to the bird, it didn't move or flinch. Petre couldn't help but wonder why this bird suddenly arrived. He did hear them when he awoke, but other than that he didn't see or hear any of them.
As Petre got closer to the bird though, he soon realized what was off. It wasn't even alive. It was just a rotting corpse standing upright. He knew this was a dream but, how? This made no sense, the only bird he had ever seen being a corpse standing on its own and coincidently staring right at him.
The voice of muffled preaching suddenly returned, this time sounding fainter and somehow weaker. Slowly Petre turned toward the sound as he did before, and just as before, the church was right next to him. Though this time, like everything else, it had changed.
Its white walls were dirty, its windows shattered, and its golden decoration was ripped off. Even the symbol of the chief god was missing. In all honesty, it seemed to be abandoned; and yet, Petre could hear that weak and tired voice preaching inside as if trying hard for anyone to hear it. Whatever the sermon was, Petre somehow felt it was for him.
Taking small steps and getting over the shock, Petre headed towards the church. He had to see what was inside, he had to know. He... needed to know. With both hands, Petre pushed open the old red doors to find nothing but a dark and empty room. The sound of preaching instantly going silent.
"Is... Anyone here?" Asked Petre, stepping into the church before suddenly, the doors behind him closed shut; leaving him in darkness.
He never realized the trap he put himself in back then...
Laughing, that is what Petre started to hear in the darkness. Petre started to feel something wrap around his chest and lower body. All the while a mysterious light began to light up the room, revealing to Petre what was happening.
The floor, the roof, the walls, the very door, and he himself was covered in long black hair; unable to move on his own. Instead, he felt his body begin to move back and forth against his will, and his hands wrapped around something underneath the hair at the bottom of the floor. And as he did so, he saw two golden eyes from the hair watching him, and from it, two feminine arms came out to wrap around his neck. "Embrace me," said a feminine voice.
His breathing started to get erratic, his pupils began to shrink, and his hands tightened around whatever they were holding underneath. The feminine entity beneath the hair seemed to enjoy it. Suddenly a rage started to overwhelm his sensations, a feeling he only felt once before as he released his grip and grabbed toward where he assumed their throat while yelling, "No...No! I'm... SICK OF YOU! ALWAYS TRYING TO HAVE ME DO WHAT YOU WANT, RIGHT!? WELL, I DON'T CARE ANYMORE, SO SHUT UP!"
The creature began to gargled, their hands sinking into the hair as they desperately gasped for breath. But no matter how long Petre choked the thing, it did not fight back; until it slowly closed its eyes, causing the strange light to flicker. And in the next instant, Petre was no longer covered with hair and he was no longer choking whatever the thing was. Instead... his hands were clasped around the throat of the old man.
Petre gasped in horror as he jolted up, "W-What? No, no! I... I didn't mean to!"
Not until it was too late...
With a burst, Petre rushed out of the red doors; not bothering to close them as he fled back to the road before stopping. This was not right... this... Was not right! He did it...again... What sort of sick game was this?! Petre tried to calm down, turning around back to the church as he caught his breath. But the church was gone, and in its place was nothing but a pile of rubble.
"That's enough!" Yelled Petre. But nothing happened, save for dead silence. Turning around Petre saw the taverns had changed once again. No more did they seem glamorous, decorated with gold and almost church-like in appearance. Instead, they now looked almost abandoned and poorly well kept; Their walls cracked, their windows shattered, and their doors obviously having been bust open at some point.
And meanwhile, on the road itself, were countless bottles laying on the ground; either being empty or shattered on the floor. He was tired of this, he was sick of this. Perhaps if he kept going, he'd see where this all went. What else was he to do at this point?
Hesitantly Petre began walking the road again, making sure not to step on any of the shards of glass, which was not easy. Even more so with the now even larger yellow sun, which seemed to glare at him as if it was some sort of eye; watching, judging, and waiting. Was it waiting for him to die? Was it watching him suffer for its own amusement?
All Petre knew is that he could feel its burning hatred against his back as he walked forward; trying hard to ignore it. Suddenly, from the cloudless sky, a cold red drizzle of rain started to come down. But where it came from Petre didn't know, save for the fact that the rain didn't seem to make the burning heat of the sun go down. Instead, it felt like the drizzle was making it worse.
And realised the consequences of his actions
Coming to a change of scenery, Petre soon arrived at a worn-down stone bridge going over what seemed to be a river dead centre within the city. This could not have been his home, not even a vicious mockery of it. There was no bridge at his home, and even then he doubted it would be as worn down like this. But at this point, he had no point but to cross it; unless he wanted to try the taverns again.
As Petre began to cross the bridge though, he had to watch his step; Avoiding large holes in the bridge that Petre could easily fall into if he wasn't too careful. Meanwhile, As he walked across the bridge, Petre noticed in the distance an empty boat floating in the water. However, when he made it halfway across the bridge, the currents of the water began to grow.
The waves continued to grow and grow, unrelenting as they rocked the boat; seeming almost alive and attempting to flood the boat. And when Petre at last reached the other end of the bridge, it, at last, sank into the waters below.
On the other side, there were still the same old run-down taverns but there was something else as well; Odd dead plants and trees, which were strangely pitch black as well and seemingly made out of something not natural. At first, there were only a few, but as Petre progressed further and the rain grew heavier, more and more of the strange dead plants and trees appeared on the road.
Then it came, the sound of screaming which froze Petre in place. From the old taverns, Petre saw around him humanoids come out. Their bodies were bloated but they were different with each of them. Some macule, some feminine. Some were relatively thin, others relatively fatter. Some were short, and others tall as a giant. However, that was not what made Petre feel afraid of them.
No, it was their faces; each and every one of them had his own face; their eye sockets empty and a blood-like substance pouring out of every hole imaginable from their face. None of them moved as they stood in front of the taverns, their expressions blank and emotionless. Just what were they?
Suddenly, one by one, they all started to yell blood-curdling cries of agony. And then in an instant, they all began to charge at Petre blindly with rage.
He didn't even wait after that. Running from the slowly increasing horde of abominations, which seemed to start endlessly poor out from the taverns, Petre began to weave in and out of the dead plants; which seemed to almost make this place a forest rather than a road. But nonetheless, the horde followed suit, the stomping of feet right behind Petre.
But then, without realizing he made poor footing, slipped on the wet ground and down to the floor. Stretching his hands out to absorb the impact, Petre unknowingly slammed his hands down on broken shards of glass laying on the ground; cutting and sinking into his hands.
Even as Petre laid there in a slowly forming puddle of his own blood, the horde would not wait; the stampede of footsteps and their groans, almost deafeningly loud now. He could feel his heart race, his hands stinging, and his guts burning. But he couldn't let those things get him. Fighting against the pain, Petre pushed himself up and ran again.
But right before he started to, he felt one of the things scratch his back; cutting through his clothes and leaving a nasty and bloody scar as he ran forward. Maybe it was the rush of adrenalin, or maybe he was faster than he realized, but he began to run even faster than before.
"Where are you going!?" Yelled a voice, though Petre ignored it. However there was something he could not pretend did not exist, however, and that was the increasingly burning feeling in his stomach which was starting to rise out. It rose to his lungs, it burned to his throat, and it flooded his mouth; causing him to clutch his mouth in an attempt to stop it from coming out.
But even as he held it in, whatever was trying to get out of him retaliated; burning the insides of his mouth with something that felt like scorching hot lava.
Suddenly, from afar, Petre saw that the strange trees parted and a little ways further, a river. Tears began to drop down from Petre's eyes, the pain in his mouth unbearable as he rushed to the river. And the moment he got right next to the river, he could no longer hold it back.
Collapsing onto the arms and knees, wine began to hurl out of Petre's mouth like a tidal wave. The red liquid seemingly infinite as it rushed out of him and into the water below; steam beginning to rise as the wine and the water made contact.
Petre's body began to deteriorate, all of his muscles shrinking like a grape becoming a raisin; the wine still not ceasing. It was only when he looked like a lifeless husk did the wine at long last stop, leaving him dry as the strength in his body suddenly left him entirely. And before Petre knew it, he collapsed sideways and straight into the water; sinking beneath its surface.
As he lost consciousness, Petre looked up to see the abominations watching him from above. But among them was one who looked different. It was the same old man staring at him, and somehow he heard them say in his mind, "I still forgive you, my son. Nothing will ever change that."
And at those words, two large armoured gauntlets burst into the water; reaching for Petre as everything went dark.