In the gloomy depths of a deteriorating and desolate jail, Demoleus slowly regained consciousness, his head throbbing with disorientation. Chains rattled as he attempted to move, only to find his limbs bound tightly. Panic surged through his veins as he struggled against the restraints, desperately trying to make sense of his surroundings.
Suddenly, blinding lights flickered to life, stabbing his eyes like shards of ice. Demoleus squinted, his vision adjusting to the harsh illumination. Fog loomed around, and before him, a massive bulkhead, adorned with an intercom at its peak. A disembodied voice crackled through the speaker, piercing the silence like a sardonic echo.
"You're awake," the voice boomed with a tone of amusement, exhibiting a cheerful and optimistic demeanor, and almost as if it had anticipated his awakening. "I was thinking that you couldn't make it!"
Confusion etched across Demoleus' face as he strained to comprehend the situation. Memories eluded him, leaving only a hollow void where his past should have been. He was a stranger to this decrepit place, an enigma trapped within its confines. The only semblance of identity he retained was his name: Demoleus.
Frustration welled within him, and he mustered the courage to speak. "Who are you? Where am I?" he called out to the voice through the intercom, the sound in his throatt tinged with both apprehension and curiosity.
In response, the intercom crackled once again, the voice delivering an ominous revelation. "You are in the 30th quadrant of Deephaven," it answered, its words echoing through the darkness of the room.
And then, with a flourish of self-importance and jest, the voice proceeded to introduce itself in a manner that reflected its flamboyant character. "And I, young lad, am known as the Bishop, asserting my role as the guardian and leader of this enigmatic prison" the voice proclaimed with whimsical flair.
A sense of confusion shrouded the room, but the reassuring voice on the intercom broke through the silence again, beckoning him to stay calm.
"Well, let me tell you, my friend, I can sense a hint of confusion in your presence, but fear not! Allow me to shed some light on the matter,"
Just then, the imposing bulkhead door slowly swung open, revealing two figures adorned in rugged hazmat suits. One of them tightly gripped a metallic briefcase, its contents a mystery to Demoleus.
With each step they took, their heavy footsteps resonated alongside the crackling of the intercom, amplifying the air of anticipation. The voice, emanating from the intercom.
"You see, I am here, dedicated to carrying out the noble tasks bestowed upon me by my unwavering belief in the divine—I proudly embrace my role as a man of God, spreading goodness and faith wherever I go,"
Demoleus couldn't help but feel a flicker of uneasiness as the man in the hazmat suit approached him. Struggling against his restraints, he yearned to break free, yet his efforts proved fruitless. In the clarity of that moment, he observed a startling revelation—the hazmat suits were stained with blood, a sight that sent waves of fear coursing through his veins.
As if scripted by fate, the man on the left unlocked the briefcase, revealing a glinting syringe filled with an enigmatic green liquid. Simultaneously, the man on the right extended both arms, restraining Demoleus with an unyielding grip while panic welled up within him. In a voice trembling with terror, Demoleus cried out, "What are you going to do to me?!"
The intercom crackled back to life, responding to his plea,
"Rest assured, young lad, that you're in for a remarkable journey filled with blessings and joyous accomplishments! And therefore, as a man of God himself, it is my duty to baptize you in the blood of the lamb!"
The intercom's voice faded away, leaving behind an eerie stillness and without further warning, the man on the left thrust the syringe, brimming with the mysterious green liquid, into Demoleus' right arm, targeting a pulsating artery. Within seconds, dizziness engulfed him, distorting his perception of reality. The muffled voices of the hazmat-suited men echoed faintly as his vision blurred, until consciousness slipped away, plunging him into the depths of oblivion.
As Demoleus gradually regained consciousness, his vision remained hazy, but what immediately struck him was the unfamiliar scene that unfolded before his eyes. With a gritty sensation on his cheeks, he slowly raised his head, only to be greeted by the cacophony of muffled screams that pierced the air, exclaiming words of violence and destruction. "Kill! Kill!" echoed through the space, mingling with the disorientation in Demoleus' mind.
Surveying his surroundings with a groggy gaze, he discovered himself enclosed within a colossal pit, its circumference fortified by sturdy iron bars that served as a boundary between the baying audience and the circular stage—a sight reminiscent of a formidable arena. Struggling to steady himself, Demoleus rose from his prone position, his senses growing sharper with every passing moment.
His attention was soon captured by a massive door positioned at the corner of the stage, beckoning him with an aura of mystery. Overwhelmed by the relentless cries of the crowd, which continued to chant their fervent mantra of "kill! kill! kill!" a commanding voice resonated from a speaker mounted atop the arena. "Today, we shall bear witness to a pilgrim reborn, a disciple baptized anew through the blood of the lamb!" The people erupted into deafening cheers, their enthusiasm reverberating through the air. The voice from the speaker persisted, emphasizing the people's fate as the arbiters of divine mercy. "Vox Populi! Vox Dei!" it proclaimed, eliciting an impassioned response from the frenzied crowd.
Demoleus, astounded by the realization that his fellow spectators were prisoners like himself, clad in identical attire, prepared to take in the spectacle unfolding before them. As he began to move, a sudden weight tethered his right foot, causing him to glance back in surprise. It was then that he noticed a heavy ball and chain, firmly bound to his ankle, restricting his movements. Swiftly turning his attention to the opening of the colossal door positioned ahead, Demoleus observed a dense fog seeping out, accompanied by a growl that resonated through the depths of his being—a growl that emanated from a colossal beast lurking within.
A gulp of trepidation forced its way down Demoleus' throat as fear and an undeniable chill coursed through his veins. Instinctively, he retreated, his back pressed against the unforgiving iron bars that surrounded him, his mind racing with apprehension about the imminent danger lurking beyond the slowly opening door.
As the fog slowly billowed forth, a monstrous being materialized, eclipsing the door from which it emerged. Towering over a human, this creature took the form of a wolf, but its size and stature far surpassed any mortal comparison. With a resounding roar that echoed through the arena, it commanded attention. Its body seemed to possess an otherworldly, almost exoskeletal structure, revealing patches of flesh that squirmed and writhed around its skeletal frame. The absence of eyes and a discernible nose only heightened the eerie nature of this abomination. Instead, all that remained visible were its massive claws, jaws that are adorned with menacing fangs, and the steady drip of saliva from its cavernous maw.
The cries of the onlookers erupted once more, their voices joining in unison, proclaiming the creature's name: "Bloodhound! Bloodhound!" It was a fitting designation for such a fearsome beast that stalked the depths of this grim spectacle. Demoleus, caught in the midst of this nightmarish scene, could only listen helplessly to the crowd's fervent chants.
From the grand speaker above, the voice of the Bishop pierced the chaos, commanding attention once more.
"Let us bear witness to the miraculous glory of God!"
The words reverberated through the arena, instilling both awe and dread in the hearts of those gathered. In that moment, the stage was set for a spectacle.
Demoleus felt a surge of terror coursing through his veins as he desperately sought an escape from the relentless giant creature. With each step he took, the clinking of the chains on his feet served as a chilling reminder of his captivity. The creature, alerted by the sound, prepared to strike, its massive frame poised to pounce. But Demoleus, relying on his instincts and reflexes, managed to evade the creature's deadly advance, narrowly avoiding its powerful jaws as it landed beside him. The impact of its tough exoskeletal head against the iron bars reverberated throughout the arena, sending shockwaves of fear through the imprisoned spectators.
Regaining his composure, Demoleus swiftly moved, circling the arena in an attempt to create distance between himself and the monstrous creature. With each step, his heart pounded in his chest, fueling his determination to survive. The creature slowly rose to its feet, emitting a thunderous roar that echoed through the air, before lunging towards Demoleus once more. Agile and nimble, Demoleus skillfully evaded the creature's attacks, his movements fueled by a mix of desperation and realization that killing the beast seemed an impossible task.
Suddenly, the speaker crackled to life, emitting a loud burst of static before the voice of the Bishop boomed through the arena.
"A record has been set! Our disciple has eluded death for two whole minutes! Let us witness the turning tides as the power of our Lord God manifests within him!"
The atmosphere within the arena swelled with anticipation, the prisoners' screams blending with a sense of both hope and dread.
As if in response to the Bishop's words, a large crate descended from the opening in the dome above, landing before Demoleus and the creature. Before he could react, the frenzied beast crashed into the crate, its brute force causing debris to fly in all directions. Demoleus, thrown to the side amidst the chaos, found himself miraculously unscathed. And there, before him, lay a 12-gauge shotgun, as if it had been placed there for him in that critical moment. Without hesitation, he reached for the weapon, its weight feeling strangely natural in his hands. He deftly loaded it with buckshots that had spilled onto the sand, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on the approaching creature as it regained its footing.
A surge of determination coursed through Demoleus's veins as he raised the shotgun, cocking it with a resounding click. His eyes locked onto the creature, a reflection of unwavering resolve. In that fateful moment, he knew that he would seize the opportunity given to him. With his finger on the trigger and his heart pounding with adrenaline, Demoleus prepared to face his adversary head-on, ready to defy the odds and fight for his life in the brutal battle.
In the midst of the intense struggle, Demoleus's mind raced, formulating a plan as he closely observed the creature's movements and formidable physique. Despite its tough exoskeletal exterior, he noticed a weakness—the creature's insides were vulnerable to the impact generated when it collided with the unforgiving iron bars, momentarily crippling its movements.
His gaze fixed on the approaching creature, Demoleus focused his attention on its exposed belly. Unlike the well-protected skeletal armor, this area seemed to lack the same level of defense, making it a potential vulnerability. Questions swirled in his mind as he wondered if the buckshot from his shotgun could penetrate the creature's muscular innards. Yet, undeterred by uncertainty, he resolved to seize the opportunity and give it a try.
As the creature lunged towards him, its jaws gaping wide, time seemed to slow down. In a split second, Demoleus raised the shotgun, his hands steady and his aim true. With nerves of steel, he aligned the weapon's barrel with the creature's open maw, determined to strike with precision. The distance between them rapidly dwindled, but Demoleus remained resolute.
In a moment that felt like an eternity, he squeezed the trigger, unleashing the explosive power within the shotgun. The deafening boom reverberated throughout the arena, mingling with the startled gasps of the imprisoned spectators. Traces of blood sprayed through the air, mixing with the echo of the gunshot.
The deafening blast from the shotgun reverberated through the arena, signaling the turning point in the harrowing battle. The buckshot found its mark, tearing through the beast's gaping maw, causing its jaws to shatter and its once formidable fangs to crack. Blood gushed forth from the creature's wounded mouth, staining the sand crimson.
The beast convulsed in agonizing pain, thrashing and writhing, its sharp claws slashing indiscriminately in a futile attempt to find respite from its torment. Demoleus, quick on his feet, threw himself to the left corner, narrowly escaping the creature's desperate strikes. The gasps of the prisoners filled the air, their collective breath held in anticipation.
With his left arm grazed by the creature's claw, Demoleus felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, numbing the pain. The once raucous arena fell into an eerie silence, captivated by the unfolding spectacle. Aware of the precarious situation, Demoleus skillfully maneuvered himself away from the wounded beast, keeping a watchful eye on its weakened state.
Gripping the shotgun tightly, he crept cautiously, each step calculated and deliberate, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and the creature. Though significantly damaged, the creature showed glimpses of resilience, its primal instincts urging it to continue the fight. Blood continued to trickle from its mangled mouth, a haunting testament to its injuries.
A deafening roar erupted from the wounded creature, shaking the very foundations of the arena. Yet, as the creature faltering steps towards Demoleus, its strength faltering, fate intervened.
The creature's trembling legs gave way, and it crashed heavily to the ground. Demoleus, an observer of this dramatic turn of events, could not help but feel a rush of relief wash over him, a wave of catharsis that escaped in the form of a weary sigh.
His body battered and fatigued, summoned the last vestiges of his strength as he dragged himself closer to the fallen beast. The weight of the shotgun hung heavily in his right arm, a constant reminder of the power he now wielded. With each labored step, he approached the creature, its feeble struggles growing fainter.
As he neared, the creature emitted a pitiful whimper, a final plea for mercy that fell on deaf ears. Demoleus, his determination unyielding, raised the shotgun and aimed the muzzle at the vulnerable belly of the beast. The air grew thick with anticipation, as if time itself held its breath.
Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
A thunderous blast once again reverberated through the arena, shattering the silence. The force of the gunshot unleashed a torrent of blood, drenching Demoleus from head to toe. The creature's guts were ripped open, strewn across the once pristine sands, now stained a deep crimson. Its feeble struggles ceased, replaced by an eerie stillness.
The audience, a mix of awe and horror, could not tear their eyes away from the grotesque scene before them. In the midst of the stunned silence, a voice pierced through the shocked murmurs. "It's the devil!" a man screamed, his words carrying like wildfire through the crowd. Panic ensued, the once captive spectators transforming into an angry mob. Profanities and accusations filled the air, all along while hearing his name, "Demoleus".
In a dimly lit room, bathed in the glow of multiple monitors, a figure shrouded in a dark coat sat transfixed. The screens displayed Demoleus, his form tainted by the carnage he had wrought. The figure's face, partially obscured, bore a wicked grin, relishing in the chaos unfolding before their eyes.
"Soon, the false sheperd will be reborn," the figure muttered.