Highway Footage Shows Unexplained Car Disappearance https://youtu.be/YS8Cb8aR2Q4

There's a story I remember and haven't been able to locate on my own, I'd appreciate any help. It's definitely one he's uploaded to his channel as that's where I've listened to it prior.

Most similar to "Sometimes It's Better To Leave The Survivors Behind" and "I Found The Bunker Of A Prepper Family Who Went Missing Three Years Ago" (I mistook both of these for the specific one I have in mind) in a similar vein of a group of people being trapped in some sort of facility/bunker with a creature. I had thought it was a bunker with a hatch/trapdoor entrance, but now I'm leaning towards it possibly being one of the space stories where they're trapped on a space station with a creature.

I remember specifically the song "Living In The Sunlight" being used, pretty sure the creature was mimicking it. I think it was set in some kind of a lab and I think I remember it ending with the main character escaping but still hearing the song.

The second story I heard during the livestream at some point, and I kind of want the title so I can avoid it. It disturbed me deeply. I remember it was about a couple of investigators who had located a family that had gone missing. Only they found them (spoiled due to disturbing detail)>!alive, but flattened together by a hydraulic press.!<Even just typing that makes me feel gross, I don't ever want to hear this story again. But hopefully that rings a bell for someone.

I used to think Mammoth Cave was just another adventure, a tick off our list. It was supposed to be fun, a weekend to explore the shadows with my best friends, to test our nerves in the endless dark. But somewhere down there, under miles of stone, something went wrong. Now, one of us is missing, and I swear… I can still hear him calling.

We’d been going for hours, our voices echoing through the tunnels, each one mocking the confidence we had when we started. There was me, Sam, and my friends Luke, Jared, and Ben. Ben was always the daring one, the first to wander ahead, the one who’d get us into trouble just to laugh it off. But when he didn’t come back, no one was laughing.

It’s strange. We retraced our steps, searched every crevice, calling his name until our voices scraped raw. Nothing. Just an endless silence, heavy and swallowing. And then… the faintest echo, like Ben’s voice, drifting from somewhere deep in the shadows.

Luke was the first to hear him calling. He stopped dead, his hand shooting up as we walked, telling us to listen. We froze, straining against the thick silence.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, his voice barely louder than a breath. None of us had, but as we stood there, letting the silence settle around us, we heard it—a faint, distant call, almost swallowed by the stone around us.

It was Ben’s voice, unmistakably. He was calling out, the sound barely reaching us but bouncing off the cave walls in strange, warped echoes. The direction was wrong, though. The call wasn’t coming from where we’d last seen him—it was coming from one of the tunnels we hadn’t even traveled down. But maybe, somehow, the paths were connected. It wasn’t impossible for cave tunnels to intersect.

We were probably about two miles down at this point, so deep that the silence felt alive, closing in around us. The chill in the air seeped into our bones, and every breath echoed back like a reminder of how far we’d come. The walls felt tighter here, the space around us shrinking with each step.

Our lights cast shaky beams on the rough stone, cutting through just enough darkness to keep us moving. We’d packed extra batteries, sure, but even with the supplies, an uneasy feeling twisted in my gut. Still, leaving wasn’t an option. Ben was down there somewhere, and we couldn’t just abandon him in the dark.

We walked down a few hundred feet, calling out Ben’s name into the dark, then waiting in silence, hoping for any kind of response. The cave swallowed our voices, leaving only the faint drip of water somewhere far off. Then, after what felt like ages, we heard him.

It came from behind us.

“What the fuck?” Luke whispered, his voice tight and shaky, eyes darting back toward the path we’d just covered.

Jared, louder than any of us, shouted back, “Alright, Ben, you can stop messing with us now, man! This isn’t funny, bro!”

I wanted to believe it—that Ben was just messing with us, hiding in some shadowed nook and waiting to jump out. But as I stared into the empty tunnel behind us, a chill crept over me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow… it wasn’t really Ben.

We backtracked, our lights slicing through the shadows as we searched every inch of the area. We moved slowly, scouring every nook, every crack in the walls, but there wasn’t a single trace of Ben. Not a footprint, not even a scuff mark. He was just… gone.

Eventually, we returned to the central cavern, slumping down on the cold stone to catch our breath and regroup. I told the others what had been gnawing at me, the dread curling around my thoughts. But Luke was quick to brush it off.

“Oh, come on, man, you know Ben is just fucking with us,” he said, his tone forced, like he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

“Well, how did he end up back here, then, when he was down there before?” I shot back. “I’m telling you guys, something isn’t right.”

Before anyone could answer, Ben’s voice echoed again, faint but unmistakable. This time, it came from the tunnel we’d seen him go down first.

“C’mon, guys… this way,” his voice drifted down the rocky corridors, a lazy drawl that somehow felt… wrong.

Jared sprang to his feet, shouting down the tunnel, “Screw you, Ben! When I see you, I’m gonna beat the shit out of you!”

Then, we heard it—a low, chuckling laugh, the sound echoing, but from a completely different tunnel. Luke and Jared exchanged glances, the bravado draining from their faces. It was like the air had thickened, and now they felt it too. Something was off.

A chill crept over all of us, settling in our bones as Ben’s laughter faded into the shadows. We huddled together, whispering hurriedly about what to do. The idea of leaving came up quick, but Luke shut it down fast.

“We can’t just leave Ben down here, guys,” he insisted, voice firm but edged with unease.

Jared shook his head, glancing toward the distant exit. “I’m going. I’ll call the cops and tell them our friend’s missing. I’ll come back with a search party.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, honestly. Part of me felt relief at the thought of professionals with equipment and experience. But Luke wouldn’t budge, his jaw set, determination in his eyes. He wanted to keep looking, convinced that Ben was close, just around the next corner.

Jared didn’t wait for more argument. With a last look back, he took off down the path toward the exit, his flashlight bouncing along the walls until he was out of sight.

Luke and I stood there in silence, the weight of the decision hanging heavy between us. Eventually, we decided to search a little longer. Just a little longer, we told ourselves.

After Jared disappeared from sight, Luke and I ventured down the same tunnel Ben had vanished into. We called out, voices barely steady, and after a moment, Ben’s voice drifted back, faint and distorted, like it was caught in a slow echo. The sound seeped out of a dark, narrow crevice ahead, just wide enough for us to squeeze through.

We moved cautiously, each step slower than the last, feeling a prickling sensation on our necks, like unseen eyes were watching us from the shadows. The path bent sharply to the right, creating the illusion that it might loop back toward one of the other tunnels. Luke forced a chuckle. “See? He’s just messing with us…”

But as we rounded the corner, our lights caught something that made us stop dead. A jagged hole yawned open in the middle of the path, wide and deep, cutting off the tunnel. The space was too narrow to walk side by side, so I trailed behind Luke as he edged forward and aimed his flashlight down into the darkness below.

Luke went silent, his light fixed on something I couldn’t see. I waited, the quiet pressing in, until the tension grew unbearable. “What is it?” I whispered, trying to peer around him.

When he turned to me, his face was drained of color, eyes wide, lips parted like he couldn’t quite find the words. He swallowed, barely managing to get it out.

“He’s down there,” Luke said, his voice trembling.

My blood ran cold. “What do you mean?” I stammered, heart pounding against my ribs.

“He’s down there, Sam,” Luke whispered, voice cracking. “Dead…”

The words hit me like a punch. I stood there, numb with disbelief, until Luke grabbed my arm, his grip almost painful. “We have to get out of here,” he said, voice tight with terror.

Without another word, we turned and started back, moving fast but steady, our lights casting frantic beams along the rough stone walls. As we reached the tunnel that led back to the central cavern, another voice echoed through the darkness.

“Guys…”

Neither of us paused. We broke into a sprint, feet pounding against the ground, breaths ragged with panic. We didn’t care where it was coming from; we just wanted out.

In his haste, Luke stumbled over a jagged rock and fell hard, his flashlight skidding across the ground before shattering into pieces. I stopped, reaching down to pull him up, my light sweeping the walls as I moved. And that’s when I saw it—a figure, pale and naked, crouched at the far end of the tunnel, watching us with hollow, empty eyes. It looked almost human… but something was horribly, horribly wrong.

“Oh my god…” I muttered, my voice barely a whisper, trembling as I stared at the figure. Luke turned, catching sight of it, his face twisting in terror. He grabbed my arm, jolting me out of my daze.

“C’mon, Sam…” he urged, pulling me forward.

We didn’t look back, rushing through the darkness, desperate to put as much distance as possible between us and whatever that thing was. Every shadow felt like it was closing in on us, every echo stretching our nerves tighter.

As we reached the main tunnel that led out of the cave, we saw a figure lying on the ground ahead. Jared. He was sprawled face-down, motionless, his flashlight lying a few feet away, casting an eerie glow on the stone.

“Oh god…” I breathed, heart racing as we knelt beside him. He must’ve tripped, maybe knocked himself out in his rush to get out. But when we turned him over, the breath left my lungs.

His face was unrecognizable, crushed and bloody, as if something had beaten him down, over and over. The horror of it froze us in place, and I could barely think, only feel the cold grip of fear sinking deeper into my bones.

That’s when we heard it—a voice drifting from the shadows, but this time, it wasn’t Ben’s. It was Jared’s.

“C’mon, guys… this way…” the voice called, soft and taunting.

I swung my flashlight toward the sound, heart hammering, and there it was, standing just beyond the light’s reach. Pale, humanoid, but wrong in every way. Its skin was chalky, almost luminescent under the beam, and its eyes… solid black, empty and endless.

The thing stared at us for a moment, then turned, its movements jerky and unnatural, and ran down the tunnel, laughing in Jared’s voice, a sick, twisted echo of the friend we’d known.

“What the hell…” Luke whispered, voice barely audible over my own pounding heart. He grabbed my arm, his grip trembling. “We have to get out of here, man!”

I didn’t need any convincing. We bolted, feet slamming against the stone, the darkness stretching ahead of us like a maw, ready to swallow us whole.

As we ran, the creature’s footsteps echoed close behind, its pace relentless. My heart pounded, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as we pushed forward. Suddenly, Luke stumbled and fell, hitting the ground hard.

I skidded to a stop, spinning around, and that’s when I saw it—the creature had caught up to him, gripping his leg and starting to drag him back into the shadows. Luke clawed at the ground, his face contorted in terror.

Without thinking, I shone my flashlight directly on it, and as the beam hit, the creature shrank back, raising its long, bony arms to shield its huge black eyes. It couldn’t stand the light; that much was clear.

I stepped toward Luke, light fixed on the creature as it hissed and retreated, slipping back into the pitch-black depths of the cave. We backed away slowly, both of us trembling, the silence around us settling like a heavy weight.

We kept moving, trying to keep our steps steady, though every nerve in our bodies screamed to run. Luke fumbled in his bag, pulling out his spare flashlight, and now with both beams cutting through the shadows, we scanned every crevice, every dark corner around us.

The creature was silent now, but its presence clung to us, a feeling so thick it was hard to breathe. We both knew it was still near, lurking just out of sight, watching and waiting.

Minutes stretched on, each one more suffocating than the last. But then, just as panic threatened to take over, we saw it—the cave entrance, a sliver of remaining daylight spilling in, piercing through the darkness like a lifeline. It was so close, a beacon of hope after the nightmare that had nearly swallowed us whole.

We made it… or at least, we thought we did. Step by step, we edged closer to the exit, the sunlight drawing us in, so close I could almost feel its warmth.

But just as we reached the final stretch, the creature dropped down from above, a blur of pale skin and black eyes, crashing into Luke and sending him sprawling to the ground. I whipped around, frantically aiming my light, but it was too late. In an instant, the creature pinned him down, smashing his head against the stone with brutal force.

Paralyzed for a split second, my mind screamed at me to act, to do something. But instinct took over. I turned and ran, abandoning Luke’s final, muffled cries, leaving my friend behind. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision as I pushed myself forward, barely seeing the light ahead.

When I finally burst out of the cave into the fading daylight, I collapsed to the ground, gasping for air, chest heaving, and the weight of loss crashing over me. The tears came hard, unstoppable, as I lay there, shattered, knowing I was the only one who’d made it out.

As I forced myself to stand, steadying my breath, I heard it—Luke’s voice, faint and choked with fear, calling out from the depths of the cave.

“Sam… please… help me…”

I froze, every instinct screaming at me to ignore it, to remember what I’d seen, to remember that Luke was gone. But hearing his voice, broken and desperate, twisted my insides. The guilt clawed at me, sharper than any fear. I had left him. I had abandoned him.

The pleading continued, soft but relentless, each word pulling at the frayed edges of my sanity. Some part of me wanted to turn back, to run into the dark, convinced he was waiting, that I could still save him.

But another part, a colder, darker part, knew the truth. It wasn’t Luke. It was the creature, mimicking his voice, sinking its claws into the last threads of hope I had left. And yet… what if, somehow, it really was him? The thought tore at me, leaving me stranded there, helpless and shattered, unable to move forward or look back.

Finally, I forced myself to turn away from the cave, each step heavier than the last. I had to leave. I had to get out and tell someone what had happened, no matter how impossible it all seemed.

But as I reached the edge of the forest, the realization settled in—I couldn’t tell them the truth. They’d never believe me. No one would. I could already picture the looks of doubt, the whispers, the judgment.

So I rehearsed the lie as I stumbled into town, every word twisting in my throat. I told them we were stalked by someone in the cave. That he’d ambushed us, attacked Jared and Luke. I described a faceless killer lurking in the dark, hunting us down one by one. It was easier that way, easier than trying to explain the unexplainable.

They listened, and they wrote it all down, but even as I spoke, a chill ran through me. In the back of my mind, Luke’s voice still echoed, pleading, calling me back into the dark.

The cops didn’t let it go. They pressed me for hours, asking the same questions over and over, watching my every reaction. Soon enough, they began talking to my friends and family, probing into my relationship with the group. I could see it in their eyes—they suspected me. I was the last one out, the only one who’d made it back, and my story didn’t add up.

They searched the cave for days, combing through every passage, every cavern. Eventually, they found Ben’s body, crumpled at the bottom of that pit, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. But Luke and Jared… they were gone. Their remains were never recovered.

And now, when I close my eyes, I still see the darkness of that cave, hear the echo of their voices, distant and pleading. No one believes me. And maybe, after all this, I’m not sure I even believe myself.

The only thing I know for certain is that I’ll never step foot in another cave for as long as I live. The thought alone makes my skin crawl, my heart race. The darkness isn’t just unsettling to me now; it’s a living, breathing terror, wrapping itself around every corner, every shadow.

I’m afraid of the dark in ways I never imagined, paranoia gnawing at me every time I turn off a light. Even here, in my own home, I can feel it—the creature’s gaze, lurking just beyond the glow of my lamp, hidden in the pockets of darkness, patient and unyielding.

It’s waiting for me. I can feel it, lurking, watching, waiting for that one moment when I’m left alone in the dark. And I know, deep down, that it won’t stop until it pulls me back into the shadows… just like it did with them.

Video Narration Here: Watch The Narrated Version

I’ve been a park ranger in Mount Hood National Forest for over a decade, and nothing has ever truly shaken me. Sure, there are the occasional lost hikers, a few wild animal sightings, but nothing out of the ordinary. That changed a few weeks ago.

It started with a missing person’s report. A hiker had gone out alone on the Timberline Trail, and his wife called in a panic. He was supposed to be back by 5 pm, but it was now 7, and he wasn’t answering his phone. Something about the way she sounded—frantic, desperate—told me this wasn’t just a case of someone losing track of time.

I took the night shift patrol to search for them. The air was cold, thick with fog, and the trees stood like silent sentinels, blocking out most of the moonlight. As I ventured deeper into the woods, a deep unease settled in my chest. It was too quiet. The usual sounds of rustling leaves or animal calls were absent.

I followed the trail, each step crunching on the frost-covered ground, the silence pressing in around me. The usual sounds of the forest—distant calls of owls, the rustle of small creatures in the underbrush—were absent, replaced by an unnerving stillness.

Then I found it. Frantic footprints. They led off the trail, deeper into the forest. The prints were erratic, almost as if the person had been running or stumbling in a blind panic. I crouched to examine them, my flashlight cutting through the darkness. The shape of the prints was unmistakable—a hiker’s boot, a solid, worn tread. But something wasn’t right. The ground around the prints was disturbed, torn up as though something had been dragged along with them.

I followed the trail further, the hairs on the back of my neck standing up. But then I found something worse. Another set of prints. Larger. Much larger. And not human. They were too deep—and they spread unnaturally wide, the toes splayed out like claws. The earth around them was torn as though whatever left them had been moving with immense weight and power.

I felt the cold sweat on my brow, but I couldn’t stop now. Something wasn’t right, and I needed answers. The prints led further off the path, into the darker parts of the woods. The air grew heavier, the fog thicker, and for the first time in years, I regretted being out here alone.

I hesitated at the edge of the steep hillside, my boots slipping on the loose rocks as I followed the prints downward. The earth seemed to be alive, shifting beneath my feet with every step I took. And then, I saw it—a scrap of clothing, caught on a branch. It was torn, frayed at the edges, and stained with something dark. The fabric looked familiar, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was what I saw next.

The footprints of the hiker and the creature now seemed to line up perfectly, as though the thing had been stalking the person, step by agonizing step. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just following. It was hunting.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself as the weight of the situation bore down on me. I couldn't turn back now. I had to know what was out here, and if I could help whoever was still out there.

I moved further down the trail, careful not to lose the prints, when suddenly, a scream pierced the silence. Distant, but unmistakable. A cry of pure terror. It sent a shockwave through my chest, freezing me in place.

But then, I heard something else. A low, guttural roar, far deeper than any animal I’d ever heard. It wasn’t just a roar, though. It was mixed with the scream, as if whatever was chasing the hiker was so close, it had begun to drown out their cries. The sounds twisted together, sending a wave of ice through my veins.

I didn’t wait. I ran.

I pressed my hand against my side, feeling the cold metal of my firearm beneath my jacket. It didn’t give me much comfort, but it was the only thing I had. I kept telling myself that if the hiker was still alive, the gun might be the one thing that could make a difference—if I could find them in time. If I could stop whatever this thing was.

The sounds of the forest seemed to grow quieter as I ran, the rush of my own breath drowning out everything else. My pulse thundered in my ears, each step making my heart beat faster. I had to focus. I had to find them.

I slowed, my chest tightening as I tried to steady my breath. My heart was pounding too loudly now, and I was beginning to lose track of the sounds that had been guiding me. I listened intently, straining to hear anything, but the woods were eerily silent. No more screams, no more growls—just the sound of my own feet crunching the underbrush.

The gulley opened up, and the fog seemed to thicken. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, a primal instinct warning me that something was very wrong. I stepped into the small clearing, shining my flashlight across the ground, scanning for any signs. My stomach twisted when I saw it—the signs of a struggle. Broken branches. Trampled ground. Torn-up dirt.

And then, I saw the fabric. Bloodstained, torn to shreds, lying in the grass like it had been discarded. I couldn’t breathe for a second as I crouched down beside it. The fabric was too familiar—it was the same as the scrap I had found earlier. This was real. The hiker was here. And they were hurt.

I fought to stay calm, but my mind was racing. This person wasn’t just lost. They were being hunted. I could feel it deep in my gut, that sickening certainty. I had to keep going, had to find them before it was too late.

But as I scanned the clearing, the silence grew heavier, more oppressive. Like something was watching me.

I kept searching, my eyes darting around the clearing, every muscle in my body tense, but all I could hear was the wind rustling through the trees. The silence was deafening, heavy, as though the forest itself was holding its breath. But then, I heard it—a gnarled, sickening crunch. A sound that made my blood run cold.

I whipped around, flashlight in hand, the beam cutting through the darkness. My breath caught in my throat as my eyes locked onto the unimaginable scene just beyond the treeline. There, lying in the shadows, was the hiker. Or what was left of him. His body was mangled, torn open like a ragdoll, his entrails spilled across the ground in a sickening display of brutality.

But worse than the body, worse than the blood, was the thing crouching behind him.

The creature was massive, its hulking form towering over the shredded remains of the hiker. Its body was covered in matted, dark hair, thick and wild. Its head bobbed with each sickening crunch it made, the sound of bones breaking echoing through the night air. I could barely comprehend what I was seeing.

Then it turned its head, its eyes locking with mine. Those eyes—they weren’t like anything I had ever seen. Dark, empty, and full of hunger.

Its mouth was a grotesque thing, stretched wide with sharp, jagged teeth, glistening with blood. The stench of it hit me like a wave, rancid and foul. In its clawed hands, it held the hiker’s legs, tearing through them with a grotesque ease. The creature chewed through bone like it was nothing more than celery, its mouth moving with mechanical hunger.

I stood frozen, too terrified to even breathe. The light from my flashlight wavered in my shaking hands as I tried to process what I was seeing. There was no mistaking it. This thing wasn’t some animal or wild creature. It was something far worse, something far older.

And it had seen me.

The creature let out a shriek, a high-pitched, piercing scream that rattled through my skull, making my ears feel like they were going to burst. It was a sound so unnatural, so horrible, that I thought I might lose my hearing entirely. Before I could even react, the thing launched itself toward me with terrifying speed.

I fumbled for my gun, heart hammering in my chest as I drew it. My hands were shaking, but I forced them steady. As it closed the distance, I fired. The first shot hit its shoulder, but the beast didn’t falter. I squeezed off another shot, and this time, the bullet slammed into its massive chest.

The creature stopped, its body jerking back from the impact, a guttural cry of pain escaping its monstrous mouth. For a moment, I thought it might charge again, but instead, it turned and fled into the woods. The sound of its massive frame crashing through the trees, snapping branches and uprooting saplings, echoed long after it had disappeared.

I stood there, frozen, my breath ragged in my chest, the adrenaline surging through me. My heart pounded in my ears as I listened for any sign of it returning. Silence. Nothing but the faint rustle of the wind.

I slowly lowered my gun, still on edge. I glanced back at the hiker’s remains—his torn, mutilated body—a horrible reminder of the nightmare this forest had become. The peaceful trails I had once loved were now tainted with blood, with terror.

The weight of what had just happened crashed down on me. I forced myself to take note of my location, marking the spot where the creature had attacked. I wasn’t about to leave the area unguarded, but I had to get back to the station, to report what had happened.

With slow, deliberate steps, I began making my way back, keeping my gun drawn, my senses heightened. Every shadow in the forest seemed to move, every sound felt like a threat. The night had become a living nightmare. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was watching me, waiting for its chance.

I arrived back at the station, every muscle in my body tight with tension, but nothing compared to the relief I felt when I stepped inside, the lights flickering on and casting a warm glow over the walls. I reported everything to my superior—every detail of the creature, the screams, the blood, the way it had attacked the hiker. He didn’t question me, didn’t even seem surprised. He just took it in, his face growing pale as I spoke.

By the time I finished, it was already 9pm. He apologized, told me I’d have to stay put and give my statement to the authorities. I nodded absently, too tired to argue. It didn’t matter to me how long I had to wait. I was back in the safety of the station, out of the woods, away from that... thing.

The night dragged on in a haze of exhaustion and dread. My mind couldn’t shake the image of the creature, its monstrous form, the way it had looked at me with those empty, bloodshot eyes. I kept telling myself that I was safe now, that nothing could touch me here.

But when the vehicles finally arrived, my relief turned to confusion. I had been expecting local police, maybe an ambulance for the poor hiker, but what I saw instead made my blood run cold.

Two black SUVs pulled up to the station, their tires crunching on the gravel as they came to a halt. The men who stepped out weren’t in uniform. They wore sharp, black clothing, sleek and professional, their faces hidden behind dark sunglasses despite the late hour. They moved with a quiet, deliberate precision, like wolves hunting in the night.

I felt a chill crawl down my spine as one of the men approached. He didn’t introduce himself. Didn’t offer a hand. Just stared at me for a moment, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses.

"Are you the ranger who encountered it?" he asked in a voice that was too calm, too controlled.

I nodded, unsure of what to make of him, of them.

"Good," he said, turning back to his colleagues. "We’ll take it from here."

It wasn’t until then that I realized what was happening. These weren’t local authorities. They weren’t even from around here. Their presence, their demeanor, was unsettling, like they had known this was coming. Like they had been waiting for someone like me to find the creature. And now that I had, they were going to take control of everything.

I stayed silent, my mind racing with questions, but before I could say anything, the man spoke again.

"Your statement will be taken. You will be briefed later. We handle things like this."

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. There was no room for questions, no room for doubt. They had been waiting for this. Whatever this thing was, it was something more than just a creature in the woods. And I had no idea how deep it went.

After giving my statement, I tried to ask them questions. I needed answers, needed to understand what was going on, but each of them just looked at me—stoic, emotionless, like they had heard it all before. Their eyes were cold, unreadable. They said nothing.

Instead, one of the men reached into his jacket and pulled out a document, sliding it across the table toward me. It was a non-disclosure agreement—an NDA. The words on the paper blurred together as I tried to read, but I could barely focus. They wanted me to sign it. To keep everything I had seen, everything I had learned, a secret. Forever.

I stared at the document, my hands shaking. I didn’t want to sign it. I couldn’t. But the way they looked at me, the way their eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that spoke of things far darker than I could understand, told me I had no choice. The weight of their silence hung heavy in the air.

They weren’t asking. They were telling.

I took the pen. My fingers trembled as I signed the paper, each stroke of ink feeling like a surrender, a piece of my soul being locked away. The man nodded as I finished, sliding the document back into his folder without a word.

But then, he handed me another piece of paper. This one was different. It had details written in tight, precise handwriting. A story for me to tell, one that would be fed to the authorities if I ever dared to speak the truth.

The man suffered a bear attack. I arrived too late to stop it. That’s what I was supposed to say. Nothing about the creature. Nothing about the blood, the screams, the twisted horror I had witnessed.

I looked down at the paper, a sickening twist in my stomach. The lie was laid out in front of me, and it tasted like metal on my tongue. I was supposed to accept it. I had no choice but to accept it.

I nodded, my voice caught in my throat as I silently accepted the agreement. I wasn’t sure what was worse—the horror of what I had seen, or the realization that I was now a part of something far bigger than I could ever understand. And I was expected to stay silent. To forget.

But I couldn’t. Not completely. Something in me refused to believe that this was over.

After that night, I quit being a ranger. I couldn’t stay in that job anymore—not after everything I had seen, everything I had been forced to bury. I tried to move on, to forget, but the nightmares never stopped. Sometimes, I lie awake in the dark, hearing the man’s awful screams echoing in my head. I see the creature—its massive, blood-soaked mouth, chewing through his thighbone like it was nothing more than a twig. The sound of it still haunts me.

What breaks me even more is the thought of that man’s poor wife, never knowing the truth of what happened to her husband. I can still hear her voice on the phone, frantic with worry. The guilt gnaws at me because I couldn't give her the closure she deserved. She’ll never know what really happened, and that thought weighs on me more than anything else.

I used to love the woods. I was an avid hiker, a lover of wildlife and nature. The forest was a sanctuary for me. But now, after what I saw, I can never look at it the same way again. The smell of pine and damp earth now just reminds me of the blood and the hunger lurking in the shadows.

I’m writing this now, trying to finally get it out of my head, because I can’t live with the images anymore. I fear they’ll find out I’ve breached the NDA, and when they do, I know they’ll come after me. They don’t let people like me talk. But I can’t keep living with this torment.

If you’re reading this, stay out of the forest. Please. It’s not what it seems. And if you must go... be sure to go armed. You never know what might be lurking out there, waiting for you. It’s not just the trees that can hurt you. The woods are full of things that should never be seen, things that are better left undiscovered.

The REAL Reason Skull and Bones is More Powerful Than You Think https://youtu.be/t-GNwXlYOjc

Is the 2024 Election a Distraction from America's REAL Problem? https://youtu.be/28ZgWuICkI8

Standing in the Everglades of Florida, my cargo shorts and jet black tank top had me feeling out of place. Morte nudged my shoulder, his similar outfit making him look rather attractive. A mortician had called us down here due to a couple of strange specimens landing on her table. A migraine throbbed to life, Morte picking up on it. She mumbled something about scales and gills, my brow furrowing. Staring at the spot where they found the bodies, nothing stood out at a close glance. A shimmering green scale glittered in the grass, a silver bullet casing catching my eyes. Plucking a pair of black gloves from my pocket, Morte watched me tug them on. Fishing around his pocket, a couple of evidence bags rested on his palm. Picking up the scale and bullet casing, he opened up the bags for me. Dropping them in, the way the grass seemed slightly crushed spoke of fighting back. Crouching down to the base, a quick spread of the grass revealed webbed claw marks and three straight claw marks. Snapping a picture with my phone, the evidence had me mumbling to myself. Morte helped me to my feet, his arms curling around the small of my waist. Swinging me underneath him, his lips hovered over mine. My heart skipped a beat, the stress of how I failed everyone melted away. Ramen whining by my feet had him swinging me back up, glowing red eyes sinking underneath the thick water had me rushing to the edge. Brushing past Morte, the night would provide us the cover we needed later. Making our way back to the hearse, a grunt escaped my lips as I lowered myself in. Clicking in my seat belt, Morte took the passenger’s seat with a huff. Pulling onto the cracked pavement, swampy landscape became the bustling Miami. Navigating the city, we came upon the Miami-Dade County Morgue. Parking in the guest parking spot, Morte tossed me my government identification. Odd looks and sharp whispers passed as we made our way down to my dear friend’s place of work. Morte bounced my tool bag off of his leg, my favorite mortician smashing into me. 

“Anne-Marie, how have you held up?” I queried with a lightness about me, her wild gray curls bouncing with each spin around. Her stout and slightly overweight body spoke of the effects of aging, her wrinkles bringing her to the age of fifty or so. Passing us a snow white mortician’s coat, a curious twinkle shimmered in her eyes. Standing on her tippy toes to whisper into my ears, scarlet painted my cheeks. Shutting it down before she embarrassed me further, my hands rested on her shoulders. 

“This is my husband, Morte. I have five kids and I am loving life.” I assured with a false bright smile, her brow cocking in disbelief. “Where are those bodies?” Changing the subject was my number one tactic as of late, my friends and family not appreciating it in the slightest. Sulking over to the last two drawers, a couple of yanks had what looked like the swamp thing laying on the cool metal surfaces. Morte moved them to the nearest stations, a long sigh pouring from his lips as he prepared my tools. Sliding on my coat, Morte tugged on a pair of gloves for me. Hovering behind me, Anne-Marie took the other side of the table. Ramen and Snowfall crawled over to her, the two melted underneath her touch. Tapping the chest a couple of times, Morte understood me holding up five fingers. Dropping my bone saw into my palms, no other tools would allow me. Sparks danced in the air, the blade flying off the machine. Cursing under my breath, an equally frustrated Morte growled next to me. Knocking on his chest, a hollow spot pleased me. Raising my fist behind my head, sticky goo painted my face upon impact. Spitting it out, the urge to vomit coursed through me. Cracking back the olive green scales, Morte clipped them back for me. Digging around goo for a clue, intact bullets grazed the tips of my fingers. Pulling them out one by one, Morte hit them with a small splash of water. Familiar markings had me stumbling back in fear, Morte catching me in his arm. Peeling off my gloves, I dropped it into the chest cavity. 

“Decay them both. We need to move now.” I spoke numbly, fighting the rough memory of my near death with the last encounter. “Annie, we can get drinks and talk after. Watching him decay their bodies, the matching bullets rolled around the table. Crushing one in between my fingers, the material was weak but strong at the same time. Annie attempted to grab my wrist on the way out, an impatient smirk lingering on my lips. 

“We will talk later, Annie!” I shouted brokenly, shock rounding both of our eyes. Bowing her head with a busted smile, her scent was vastly sweeter. Realizing the other reason she called me down here, Morte placing his hand on my shoulder snapped me back to reality. Apologizing while sprinting out, every footfall felt hollow. Jumping into the driver’s seat, Morte pleaded with me to explain what was wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, the engine rumbled to life. Peeling onto the busy road, the hideout was in the Everglades. The city became unforgiving nature, the tires squealing into an airboat rental place. Leaving Morte in the car by himself, the rental process blurred with my incoming tears. Wiping them away on the way out, the keys jingled with every step towards our boat. Plopping my seat, Morte stopped me from starting the boat. 

“What did you smell?” He demanded with a patronizing look of deep concern, my eyes narrowing in his direction. “Was it cancer or something?” Bowing my head as the fan clicked to life, he refused to get out of the way. Gritting my teeth, the bastard knew me way too well. 

“Why do you care? She wasn’t your friend. She wasn’t the little girl you saved.” I spat back viciously, his expression softening. “This isn’t the kind you come back from.” Cupping my cheeks, his lips brushed against my forehead. Wiping away my tears, my emotions had me all over the place as of late. 

“Perhaps you could make her one of us.” He suggested sweetly, my head shaking. The lovely lady always spoke about making it to those pearly gates, death often looking like relief to her when she got really sick growing up. The floor groaned as Anne-Marie hopped on, her dejected grin never leaving her face. Not now, my sorrow made it hard to keep eye contact.

“If you think you are going alone, you have it fucking twisted. I may be dying but I am not going to let you die today.” She asserted herself sternly, her hands resting on her hips. “God will meet me when it is time.” My pleas fell on deaf ears, her palms pressing together as she plopped down in the front. Moving forward, dread bubbled in my gut. Flashing the angelic blade I gave her back then, her grin never looked more sincere. 

“Don’t you think it is time that I pay you back and get my revenge?” She pointed out simply, flipping it over her fingers. “They did kill my parents after all. Don’t I get a choice in how I could possibly go out?” Shooting out a quick sure, my heart seemed seconds from beating out of my chest. Her heartbeat echoed in my ears, the erratic rhythm speaking of an oncoming heart attack. Maneuvering through the swamp amidst her chatter, my heart ached for what was about to happen. A single worn cabin glowed in the distance, neon yellow catching my eyes. Parking the boat a few feet away, Morte watched me jump into the thick water. Trudging up to the docks, Morte and Annie joined my side. Death glares kept the alligators away, the snakes not taking a chance on me. Pulling myself up, I knelt down to aid an ailing Annie. Morte grumbled under his breath as he towered behind me. Washing us off with a wave of clean water, the gators gathered around us. Their eyes glowing in the swamp, a splash sending them away. A living swamp creature had me scrambling back, his olive green scales glinting in the light. His emerald fish lips curled into an excited grin, his matching gills and fins flapping away. Annie hid behind me, her fingernails digging into my flesh. The response was a natural one, part of me hoping that she would run away.

“Thank you for coming. The others are in there with those fucking monsters.” He gargled between words, muddy water dripping off his body. “You are here to help, right? Oopsie, my name is Gills.” Offering his hand for me to shake, his webbed fingers swallowed mine up. 

“You can call me Corpsy. Consider your friends saved.” I chirped cheerfully, our hands dropping awkwardly to our sides. “Please stay quiet!” Peeking around the corner, a dozen or more of Gills looked dehydrated in the middle of the bright cabin. Killox pressed his sawed off shotgun into the back of the closest one. Taking that as my cue, glass shattered across the floor upon me entering through the broken window. Kicking up my dagger, my eager palm caught it. Smashing my heel into the shotgun, the damn thing skidded across the room. Morte flipped into the window, his gentlemanlike nature had him helping her in. Pinning the idiot to the wall, a couple strands of his slicked back neon yellow hair dropped to the center of his forehead. His jet black eyes glistened with malice, his shadowy minions stepped back. Gills’ people stumbled out of the window, water splashing in the distance. Gills waved goodbye before joining them. 

“Velvet suits are a little ridiculous out here don’t you think!” I thundered venomously, my knee jamming into his stomach. Inky blackness sprayed my face, Morte calling out for me to look out. A silver dagger shimmered over my head, Annie knocking me out of the way. Jamming the blade into his chest, his shriek destroyed the cabin. The walls splashed into the swamp, his body decaying to a pile of glowing ash. Annie stumbled back, sweat glistening on her face. Searching for some baby aspirin, her hand stopped mine. The silver dagger quivered in between her ribs, ruby dripping onto the worn floor. 

“You have to leave me here to be found.” She spoke calmly between wheezes, her body dropped to the floor. “Leave the boat. The rental has been changed to my name. You can’t be here nor will you tell anyone that you were here. Is that understood? Now, get going. I can’t wait to meet you again, my dear fr-” Her hand squeezed one last time, her last breath drawing from her lips. A glow in the distance had me leaping back into the swamp water, a portal opened up underneath my feet. Yanking Morte down with me, wandering alone wasn’t going to happen all over again. A blast of energy spit us back out into what could be described as a Gothic rainforest, my fingers digging into the blood red dirt. Pitch black vegetation danced around in the humid breeze, Morte rolling onto his back at the same time. Staring up at the blood red moon, something told me that it would be a couple of days in this hell.        

“Does this happen to you alot?” He inquired with an annoyed groan, rapid movement catching our eyes. “At least I am with you for this time around.” Curling into a ball, one of my first friends had died. Silent tears stained my cheeks, the fun memories we had played out like a movie in my head. A shoulder nudge snapped me out of it, Morte placing me on his back. Sprinting deeper into the jungle, a scarlet spider seemed to scuttling after us. Draping my arms around him tighter, horror rounded my eyes. Running until he couldn’t, a worn Tiki hut came into view. Skidding in, he slammed the door shut. Holding it closed, a numb expression washed over my features. Too stunned to think, his words faded in and out. Every breath grew shorter, the jagged breathes causing my chest to ache something fierce. Clutching at my chest, my heart seemed seconds from beating out of my chest. The door burst open, Ramen’s scale glowing bright. Releasing the power of the sun, Morte crashed on top of me. Shielding me from the burning mess, his ears prevented the shrill shrieks from hitting my ears. The noise died down, a thick line of smoke curling into the air. Clutching me close to his chest, his chin rested on my head. Soaking his shoulder with my emotions, my fingers clung to his tank top. Screaming into his chest, exhaustion washed over me. A rough slumber stole me away, his singing being the last thing I heard. 

Groaning awake, a tuckered out Morte held me in between his legs.  Resting against the wall, his dark bags spoke of a lack of sleep. Glancing back at him, a groggy yawn escaped his lips. Blood and guts covered his body, guilt eating at me. My lips parted to speak, his hand covering my mouth. 

“Don’t apologize! Keeping you alive is my job as your husband. During one of my bathroom trips, I found something that might intrigue you.” He bragged with another yawn, his crooked grin melting my heart. “Too bad two days have passed already. Sleep must have been avoiding you.” Spinning around to face him, my hands cupped his face. Brushing my lips against his tenderly, time slowed down for a moment. Releasing him from my spell, scarlet painted both of our cheeks. Hitting us with a wave of his water, the coolness felt nice on my hot skin. Popping to my feet, my hand hovered in front of his face. Intertwining his fingers with mine, one tug had him on his feet. Fishing around my boot, a healing potion grazed the tip of my fingers. Pressing the vial into his palm, a quick pop had him gulping it down. The bags faded away, his power level returning. Poking our head out, nothing seemed to be coming our way. Expanding my dagger to its full size, the branches and dried leaves crunched underneath our boots The hours passed with rumbling stomachs, a dragon temple coming into view. Hunger burned in Morte’s eyes, his arms pulling me close to his hips. Sinking his fangs into my tender flesh, the sound of him gulping down my blood sent chills up my spine. Such meals like this were a last resort, a satisfied sigh escaping his lips upon his relief. Licking his lips, our eyes flitted over to the doors with pictures of Ramen and Snowfall. Leaping off of my shoulders, one touch of their claws had the doors groaning open. Stepping into the jet black temple, the torches flickered to life. Bouncing ahead, another clue had to be somewhere. Sucking in a deep breath, something had brought us here. 

“Do you need some of my blood?” Morte queried lovingly, his scythe waiting in the defense position. Shaking my head, my sorrow had stolen my hunger. Pushing forward, our breath hitched at the hall of mirrors we came upon. Staring at our wet complexions, my hair clung to my face. Tracing my cheek, a dark energy washed over the space. Morte knocked me out of the way, a jet black dragon narrowly missing him. Scrambling to my feet, the dragon’s tail shattered the mirrors along the hall. A gust of hot air separated us, the floor giving out underneath me. Crashing onto a pile of skeletons, the bones sounded like xylophones with every attempt to get back on my feet. Ramen and Snowfall danced around me, their tails wagging. Licking my face, the fall had paralyzed my muscles to an irritating level of weakness. Sure, I could move but standing was out of the question. Hot flames had Ramena and Snowfall shrinking behind me, a wave of panic crashing over me. Dragging them into the deepest level of the bones, we sank to the bottom. Holding them still, survival would come with my wits. Heavy claws crushed bone after bone, the dragon settling down a couple of inches from me. Crawling through the bones every time the bastard moved, my palms reached a clean marble floor. Pulling myself behind a column, a couple of taps had my blade shrinking down to its dagger form. Holding my knees close to my chest, my heart ached for Morte. Digging around my boots, my last healing potion grazed the tip of my finger. Choosing to ignore it, the vial would better serve me later.  Using the wall to struggle to my feet, a bone cracking underneath my boots had horror rounding my eyes. The color drained from my cheeks, the milky eyes of the dragon meeting mine. Attempting to use my powers, dread slapped me across the face. A glow hummed to life underneath its scales, a loud fuck bursting from my lips. Raising my heel clumsily over my head, the impact had me flipping clumsily through the air. Landing in one of her old tombstones, the impact paralyzed me once more. Dragging the top of the tombstone over me, a darkness devoured the tiny space. The dragon clawed at it desperately, a failed attempt to move my right hand revealed that my arm had broken. Thanks, adrenaline! A gnawing feeling haunted my mind, my good hand snatching my dagger. A warmth soaked the back of my head, my own blood matting my hair. Marks glowed to life on the bottom, a kick to the top sent it flying into the air. The sharp edge sliced through the dragon’s neck with ease, the head decaying before it could hit the floor. The cover shattered a couple of feet away from me, my leg screaming in protest. Breaking upon hitting the bottom of the tomb, silent tears streamed down my cheeks. Ramen and Snowfall cuddled up by my face, my healing powers refusing to work. Ramen dropped my healing potion into my mouth, a bite shattering the glass. The thick muddy liquid coated my throat, time reversing itself as my bones cracked back into place. A grogginess came over me, the side effect of the potion taking its hold. Wiggling my toes, the lack of ability had me growling under my breath.  The hole over my head tripled, a cold female voice ringing in my ears. Fuck this bad timing, I thought bitterly to myself. A frail pale face hovered over mine, concerned silver eyes refused to come into focus. Pointed ears bounced up and down, two silver horns glinting in her silver fire’s light. Leaning down close enough to kiss me, my shaky hand gripped her throat. What a weak grasp!

“Don’t you dare try to eat me, bitch.” I slurred defiantly, a rich fit of laughter burst from her lips. Pecking my forehead, her swift action of her laying a blanket over me shut down my concerns. Cocking her head to the left, a tea kettle shimmered in her jet black gloved hand. Was she going to hit me with that?

“Why would I do that? I am a dragon servant, not a monster.” She sang gleefully, her palms clasping together. “My duty is to serve the one that has the dragon guardians. Relax, my dear master. We will reunite with your husband soon enough.” Her last sentence floated in and out, my hand hitting my thigh. Exhaustion weighed on my eyelids, a rough slumber stealing me away.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

I ran straight to the car and locked myself in, before realizing James was still out there. I opened the console and quickly grabbed the masks.

I could hear yelling from outside, and from the window James was standing at a distance. He was waving his arms, presumably wondering what the hell I was doing. I jumped out and told him not to check out the smell. He told me he couldn’t smell it anymore, and I was stunned. What? I kept thinking. The smell was stronger than ever.

I told him about the fox, and he looked upset for a moment, then glanced at the ground solemnly. There was nothing we could’ve done to help it. He argued over what could possibly have done such a thing, and I had no reply. I just watched him pacing around. He looked back at me and asked about the smell.

I told him it was still burning my nostrils, and he repeated that he couldn’t smell it anymore. Then he realized that he couldn’t seem to smell anything. I closed my eyes and just tried to focus; to think of some explanation for all this. He called my name, but I shushed him. He called for me again, this time sounding worried. I wondered what could it be this time?

I opened my eyes to find James barely holding himself up from the gravel path, blood rushing from his nose. I immediately started to panic and rushed to help him up. We both started frantically trying to make any sense of what was happening but still, there was no explanation.

I laid him down in the backseat of the car, and I locked the doors. We just remained silent for a while, staring off. My heart was pounding, and James was hyperventilating. Was it all anxiety? Were we just being hypochondriacs? I checked to see how James’ nose was looking. The bleeding had stopped, but he still felt cold inside, especially in his head.

That’s a feeling I could understand. It seemed almost like an anxiety attack, given the hyperventilating and the constant nervousness. I’d supposed it wasn’t impossible for a more severe case to cause a nosebleed. I’m no doctor, but that was the only theory that resembled reason. James seemed to like the idea. I could tell things were easing up, and the atmosphere was settling down.

Ever since we’d arrived, the place had felt off. And every explanation came with a new question. But we couldn’t just leave now. If we pushed hard enough, we’d complete our goal. Not that we had any specific tasks in mind. Sure, we wanted excitement but this bullshit wasn’t the kind we had anticipated.

I asked him if he felt like going home, or if he wanted to take a drive. He reminded me that we needed to check out the hardware store in the nearby town. I couldn’t believe he was still thinking about that. I paused for a second, then asked if he was serious. He just nodded, wiping his nose. I could tell he was embarrassed about everything that had happened. He seemed to look to me for advice and encouragement, so I told him I was nervous too.

He knew that, but gave me a smile. He said he just wanted to grab another beer and forget about the craziness. And that sounded like a good plan to me. But we were both making excuses to stick around.

It felt like we were walking into a trap. I like to think someone was watching us and just saying go! Turn around and get out of there already! But we decided to keep pushing further.

We stayed in the car for a good half hour. I’d occasionally roll down the windows to see if the smell was gone, but it lingered. Over time, it got less severe but the stench didn’t truly dissipate until a bit later.

Eventually I grew used to it and stepped out of the car. James jumped out with me. He looked fine enough, and his body was holding out well. He noticed me checking on him and started to walk ahead. Like my looking made him uncomfortable.

Back at camp, the fire was barely burning, and the ice in the cooler had partially melted. We each grabbed a can and chugged them down. That settled the nerves right, and we were able to continue talking about the drones, albeit with a sense of urgency.

We were both pretty tolerant when it came to holding down a drink, so neither of us were drunk per say, but we most definitely were not sober. For some reason we agreed to start a flight test with the drone right then, and so we booted it up and made sure it had some juice. It was nearly fully charged. We somehow managed to get it up in the sky, but it was all downhill from there.

James handled the controls and I watched, focusing on the screen. But the image was wobbly and grainy. It was hard to make out much detail in the sea of green and brown through the low resolution picture.

He kept steering around the tree tops, trying to capture clear angles, but he couldn’t seem to control it once we crossed the forest threshold. As soon as we had the frontside of the mall in view, the rotors malfunctioned, and the drone started pivoting and moving erratically.

We were both freaking out trying our damndest to safely land the thing, but it was losing more and more control. James was sweating, and I couldn’t blame him. That thing probably cost him a small fortune. He started mashing the controls even harder but it did nothing. The drone was gone, and the feed went dark.

He threw his glass at a tree and shouted. I was mad too. Not only because James lost his drone, but because we had lost our best method of observing the surrounding area. We’d have to do it all on foot if the drone couldn’t be repaired.

This was something we could at least partially explain as a technological failure. So we weren’t immediately checking the radar for ghosts and ghouls, but there was something undeniably wrong about the place. We saw it then, but we didn’t want to relent. Partially because we’re both stubborn, and mostly because we weren’t thinking straight.

I took a deep breath and sighed, while James went frenetic. I was used to seeing him riled up but this was an extreme outburst.

His face looked about as red as a tomato and his cheeks were flush. I told him we could fetch it after cutting through the bush. That it was probably fine. Minor damage at worst.

We both counted on it having been caught in the foliage. That would have at least mitigated some of the impact. It isn’t like searching the outside of the building on foot would be that much slower, but still, we really wanted to test out the drone and save time for exploring.

I sat down by the dying fire and watched the decrepit mall peeking through the treetops. I felt watched back. The trees appeared to block any and all potential paths almost intentionally. This place was truly sealed off tight. It didn’t seem natural to either of us. There were literally no openings at all. Absolutely none whatsoever.

At first, I had imagined the weaving branches as something akin to a wall or a fence, but now it began to resemble a spider web. I drowsed in and out of consciousness, feeling the drink coming down, and my worried thoughts just hit me. Why the hell couldn’t we see the damn place on any maps or GPS? I had to get the exact location off some sketchy website. What was up with the fox? The shit it was hiding. The nosebleed. All of it was so weird.

Every location I visit has stories. People will tell you about all sorts of crazy shit, like phantoms and demons, or other kinds of enigmatic entities. And this place wasn’t any different.

People had mentioned that the area was cursed. Some claimed the building itself was some sort of spirit. A few whack jobs wrote about conspiracies. The same old nonsense. Obviously I wrote it all off as bullshit, but I still wanted to find out what was getting everyone so worked up.

As the mall captured my stare, I realized the answer to my question. James called to me, snapping me from the trance, and I stumbled out of the chair, nearly spilling onto the ground. I felt more sober with each step, but James sounded like he hadn’t touched a drop in his life.

He was hollering about how I had just left him. How I was gone for hours. I thought he was crazy. He knew where I was, I mean I wasn’t more than 15 feet behind him, not moving a muscle. You couldn’t have missed me.

He wasn’t satisfied, and ran up to me with bulging eyes. His face read shock loud and clear. I knew something was up. He suddenly rubbed his hand down my cheek. Dirt and blood covered his fingers.

He asked me where I went again and what had happened to me, and I repeated that I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. That’s when I looked up to notice the sun already setting. I checked my phone and five hours had come and gone in a flash.

James started to get the picture that I really didn’t understand the situation. I told him I had just taken a nap for a few minutes by the fire, but his story was a lot different. He told me that after I walked away, I completely disappeared. Vanished without warning. He thought I was fucking with him at first, but after five minutes he was concerned.

I was baffled. I hadn’t just poofed out of existence. I was right there the whole time. We were genuinely considering packing up and leaving now. I grabbed my things and put my tent away. I almost started to take down his tent, but James tried to argue.

As we bickered about leaving, a devastatingly loud crash echoed from somewhere. I quickly shuffled into James’ tent and we sealed the flap without a second thought. We just sat there quietly, making sure to be unheard and preferably unseen. That was our last straw, or so we thought. We didn’t need to parse any words to know we were going the very moment we could get gone.

The crash reverberated outside, snapping back and forth between all directions. Shit man! I mumbled to myself. I was done for one night. My heart pounded in sync with the thunderous echoes. We were both tired.

I locked eyes with James and he gave me the same confused look I had grown angered of. After a while I fell back, and rolled onto my side facing the tent wall. I passed out soon enough, in spite of the noise.

When I woke up, I felt dazed and confused. I reached for my phone, unable to feel it beside me. Then I looked over to see James. He was on his knees, staring at my phone screen. Something was wrong with him. I asked him what he was doing and he just pointed the screen to me. The time hadn’t changed at all. The sound had also stopped.

James started to laugh under his breath. He told me he couldn’t get any sleep, so he waited there for nearly an hour watching me, but time didn’t follow. It was weirdly quiet. More than it had been before. The only sound to be heard was our own voices. No insects chirping or wind blowing.

My anxiety began to finally take over. It was getting so damn hard to hold out. I told him to stop laughing. To just listen. His mouth quivered and his neck twitched left to right. I just focused, trying to hear something. Anything at all. The silence felt like a substance that penetrated through my ears and into my brain.

That was it. I jumped up and started to unzip the tent door. I nearly tore it in two the way I yanked so hard. And as it opened I fell through into a mid-day storm.

Somehow, the sun was out, albeit covered by thick stormy clouds and the sound of a low rumble reverberated through the sky, not unlike the noise from earlier. Light now shone through the tent.

A jolt of lightning cracked in the distance, and not a second later did the sound emit once more. James was freaking out. He didn’t dare leave the tent as he paced in circles. I checked my phone, but the screen flickered off. The button wasn’t working. I kept tapping the screen and pushing the power, but nothing happened.

Unsure of what to do, I put my phone into my pocket. I stared at the sky, trying to think of something. How the storm seemed to appear from nowhere. How the night turned to day without a trace. James was barely managing, but he was coherent. At least I wasn’t alone in this shit show.

I grabbed him by the arms and shook him good. His teeth were chattering and he grabbed me back. He clung tightly to me. He was beyond terrified, and I was tired of playing brave. I was scared too.

We had convinced ourselves to stay by rationalizing the strange occurrences, but this couldn’t be reasonably explained. Even if I could conjure up some excuse, nothing good could possibly follow.

Did some sort of EMP wipe out our systems? That would explain the phone and the drone, but what about the storm? What about the sun? It was pitch black outside, and then it wasn’t.

Maybe the time was wrong, but that didn’t change much. The tent was partially transparent, and thin enough that any sounds outside could be heard loud and clear. And that sound. The thunder. It’s the same sound we heard before. Like a warning. No explanation was good. But neither was observable reality. It didn’t work. The logic didn’t fit.

James interrupted my moment of pause and shouted that we had to get out of there immediately. I told him I was thinking the same thing and we ran out of the tent. Both of us were booking it faster than we ever had before. The car was right there. Escape was near.

There was no time to think about what we left behind. The mall could keep it all. As far as I was concerned, the rumors were true. This place was as cursed as they came.

I put the key in the ignition so fast I almost sprained my wrist. The sound of the engine running was like magic at the time. But something was wrong. The car wouldn’t fully start.

James was pounding against the dashboard telling me to hurry up, but I didn’t know what to do. After every twist it would roar to life before shutting down again. I cursed loudly and slammed my fist into the horn. No! Not now! Come on! I screamed internally.

James told me we should have taken his truck and he was right. We were trapped, and it was all my fault. It was all because of me. My despair surged as I felt something warm trickle down my chin. It was my blood.

Legates

[Section 1]

Part 1: The Summoning

Okay take a deep breath and then picture a demon. Not just any but the ultimate killing machine. A demon that doesn’t speak and carries a black sword with serrated edges. A pale grey, burnt, scaly humanoid with a mouth full of shark teeth. Armored from head to toe in steel, with a long flowing cape. Basically, an indestructible tank that feels no pain or pity. His burning reptilian-like eyes rip a hole through your chest and grip your soul like the invisible hand of Fatima. Imagine standing there frozen in overwhelming terror. You can feel it in your bones. A slight tingle urging you to gather whatever strength you have left and make a run for it. Your last frantic burst of thought reaches beyond the grave and clings on to hope right before everything goes dark.

The wicked demon you just imagined is a very special class unique to the underworld called a Legate. They fall under one of the four Greater Demonic Houses: The Undead Legion. (The other three houses that serve Lyrael, and his fallen generals include: the Angelic Fallen, the Dark Order, and the Unholy Nameless Masses.) A legate’s mission is to lead the hellish army into victorious battle, during the final fight between good and evil.

The process of becoming a legate depends on several factors. I hope you are ready to begin because the journey will be taxing and some of you might not make it through the first few pages of this grueling bio. Always remember. A strategic mind isn’t simply thrown into the fire for all eternity. It is tested by the fire and if it survives than the thing that comes out on the other side is usually this twisted, broken metaphysical, metaphorical tempered steel. Only after the flames of damnation have scorched the mind, can the mind be quenched by the hellish legionary army into a hardened weapon of unfathomable destruction.

This isn’t even half the battle! The process of becoming a legate requires a literal sacrifice. A vampire who’s willing to throw themselves into a transformation process that is not at all for the faint of heart. So, if you are faint of heart, the journey ends here for you. If not, let us start by joining the Church of the New Faith. You are a postulant and must speak to an unholy priest to become a neophyte. A neophyte is a true believer in New Faith doctrine. Someone worthy who has received unholy communion on more than one occasion. A postulant must prove their piety to the antichurch by taking the plunge into the dark waters of blasphemous blood baptism.

Humans can join the church but to become a legate you must be a vampire and a neophyte. Why? Because only vampires are strong enough to work for the militant wing of the Dark Order. You are someone who’s both strong and a vampire. After several months of getting accustomed to the bizarre, ritualistic nature of the Unholy Church, you are ready to take the next step. And so, you speak to the thaumaturge at your local antichurch. He will decide if you are worthy enough to be promoted to the rank of initiate. This is a critical special position held by those who serve the Dark Order. It separates you from those who only worship at its New Faith churches.

If you show that you are responsible and can be saddled with certain menial duties, like ushering neophytes, antichurch security, and assisting with unholy communion, you can become an acolyte or proselyte. Proselytes are the ecclesiastical initiates and acolytes are the martial initiates. We will ignore the former and focus on our primary subject—the acolyte trainees. By becoming an acolyte, you are giving up your old life for a new one of servitude and piety to the New Faith and to the Dark Order that protects it.

The gravity of your decision weighs heavily on you. It took you a week to decide to say goodbye to everything you ever loved and knew. After one epic going away party, you turn yourself in to the local church. You will be processed and given quarters within G-HUN, which is this massive, global underground network of tunnels, bunkers, and facilities the Illuminati and New World Government maintains. It is the perfect place to carry out their evil schemes because it is away from the prying eyes of the conspiratorial public and annoying Angelic Holy Order.

You must harden your mind and body for combat and perform your duties with faith and devotion for several years before you will even be considered as a possible “vessel of rebirth.” How an acolyte is selected for Rebirth is an extreme state secret. All that is known for sure is that every candidate must be handpicked by a legate. One who remembers how well you’ve oppressed aggressive naysayers and jubilant agitators while on covert operations. Most acolytes will never know the honor of Rebirth. You are not one of those weaklings. Your bravery and faith stood out early and often. Because of this, you have been summoned before a legate. He stirs from stone-sleep with red, beaming eyes that pierce into the darkness like fire sabers. He beckons you deeper into his resurrection chamber. A boney, scaled gray hand reaches out from the gothic bio-casket and gives you a sealed letter. He demands in a harsh, dry tone from years of deep sleep, that you “take this to the warlock” at the nearest antichurch.

Over the years you have tasted a great deal of battle and gained a great deal of skill and experience because of it. You have become a powerful soldier for the New Faith, one who’s known for performing their duties without failure and without pity. You were led to victory by legates and even managed to befriend a few of these rare demons. Victory often brings out the comradery in people; the wicked are no different. Victory against who? Countless rogue vampire scum, cocky guardian angel cohorts, and terrible, highly classified [Lv4] Above Top Secret] spectral “gateway” horrors—all have been crushed under your boot in the name of the new order. This was an exciting time in your life that flew by like a hawk in the sky searching for prey. And you were grateful for every moment of it. You smile and think about that split second decision to join the Dark Order and how much it has impacted you. How much you’ve matured and become stronger.

The whisper campaign has begun amongst unholy priests and the patrician families that faithfully support the New Faith Church. Your name comes up, again and again, in conversation as a possible “vessel of rebirth” candidate. To obtain this is every acolyte’s darkest dream. The life you’ve lived past to present was all for this moment. The day when your exceptional fighting skills, natural leadership qualities, and unflinchingly loyalty to “the Cause” finally paid off.

That day comes several weeks later. You have been selected by the “powers that be.” I use that phrase because no one knows how “vessels” are chosen. It is a closely guarded secret within the super clandestine antichurch hierarchy. That’s the good news. The bad news is that your ordeal is far from over. You might even say it just started. The process you knew as becoming a “vessel of rebirth.” The official name for it is: Unholy Sanctification. A term coined by DPI when a “vessel of rebirth” begins their unholy journey towards final ascension.

Before we can further discuss why government officials call it Unholy Sanctification, we should probably wade through a few more clerical matters. First and foremost, who are these so called “powers that be” who helped thrust you onto the path of becoming a legate? The answer is top secret. Well. Let’s just say rumors of your heroic deeds have made it all the way back to the Dark Lord himself. Agents from his Unholiness’ court in Moldovia will summon the elusive “Witch Queen” from her icy chambers and share with her the news. She will then be asked to tap into her “crystal ball” with a form of black magic and divination long forbidden by the Holy Order during the Atlantean era. Astrological charts will be consulted, and vatic visions deciphered. After which, the Witch Queen will send out what is essentially a letter of recommendation to the warlock from the appropriate church district (NEWGOD).

The warlock will grumble about the decision while dressing in his finest cassock, cancel all of his future appointments, and board a flight to church headquarters in [Redacted]. Once there, he will have to sit through half a dozen meetings on unrelated antichurch matters before an official unholy conclave will be commissioned. He will not be invited inside of course. Only high-ranking patricians and blood bishops are allowed to participate in conclaves. After several hours of waiting around for it to conclude, the warlock will be summoned inside to hear the verdict on the question of your Rebirth. A “no” would mean less paperwork and a much quicker return to his normal duties. The vote was narrow, but they have decided that you are indeed worthy of the honor. The flustered warlock will thank the council for their verdict before leaving so that he can get a jumpstart on the headache of hunting down one of the four church lictors, who seem to never be in their office when you need them. For the sake of this example, we’ll go with Ark Haven’s antichurch representative: Lictor Erik Wineblood from “The Story of Emma Summers.”

Your fate will be solely in Erik’s hands after the warlock meets with him and reveals the unholy conclave’s formal opinion on Rebirth. He has the power to dismiss it out of hand or humor your disgruntled warlock advocate’s claims. Let’s say he does feel sorry for you, for the sake of argument, of course. He will then arrange a private meeting of the minds between your disgruntled warlock advocate and Ark Haven—the demon lord he serves. This meeting may take some time to arrange considering Ark Haven might be unavailable. He could be away doing anything from handling DPI business, gathering intel from one of his angelic contacts in the Holy Order, giving counsel to the United Stated president or his NWGO “shadow president” counterpart, engaged in the cruel hunt for vampire blood, or he could be in hell visiting Hannael.

Speaking of being engaged in the hunt, you can read “There’s Something Far Worse than Vampires” to get an idea of what I mean about how eerily similar your selection process is to the one used when selecting some sad sap to feed on whenever the demon lords try in vain to satiate their insatiable demand for vampire blood. Remember: all five demon lords need the blood of vampires just as much, if not more, than vampires need the blood of humans. The only difference between this selection process and yours is that yours comes with a happy ending. If you can call what happens to you a “happy ending.”

The meeting will conclude after a few hours. You will not be told much by Ark Haven’s lictor as they rarely deal with low-ranking vampires such as yourself. Lictor’s are patrician vampires who hold a considerable amount of sway given the nature of their profession. What the hell is a lictor and why are they so influential? Real fast, a lictor is basically a glorified church appointed secretary. They manage affairs on behalf of their absent (fallen angel) master, regarding all matters Church of New Faith related. There’s a ton of paperwork and ceremonies involved when dealing with the procedural driven antichurch. As you can imagine, the fallen lords are not about to sit around and sign a bunch of documents, approve clerical promotions, or hand out death warrants. That is what their lictor is for and this is why they have an inordinate amount of influence in the vampire underworld. Anyway, so like I said, Erik will not say much. He will simply tell you to meet him at a secret site underneath one of the major antichurch cathedrals. And you better be prepared to fight. He will reiterate this and also that it’s not too late for you to back out. So, my friend, if you want to stop reading this, you better do it now. Last chance, before things get dark.

---

Part 2: Unholy Benediction

Inside the dimly lit chamber, you glance around to see that you are surrounded by candles, strange glowing glyphs, ornate half-crumbled columns, and vivid gothic masonry you’ve never seen before. You can barely make out the artwork carved into the floor. Interesting. Whatever it is, it appears almost Atlantean in nature and beauty. The details are shocking, and you’d like nothing more than to ask about this place. Sadly, you have very little time to marvel at the ancient angelic architecture that surrounds you. Ark Haven is already there waiting for you. You know this because he calls out to you in that cool collected tone he’s known for. You shudder at the thought of fighting the shirtless figure in slacks as he slowly approaches you wielding a baroque backsword.

Ark Haven is the most mysterious fallen lord. His slick dark hair is combed back. His face chiseled and expressionless. He rarely participates in anything Dark Order related. No one knows why the Devil tolerates his machinations. Rumor has it, he knows something that the others don’t. A secret about the universe the Devil needs to know if he’s going to win this new rebellion against God. But tonight is altogether different. Tonight, he will be your Examiner as you take the first step towards your quest for Unholy Sanctification. For reasons we’ll never know, he decided that you were the perfect vampire to test his skills on. That’s right... all you are to him is a glorified punching bag. Something to keep him honest and his predatory nature sharp.

You grip your longsword with both hands in eagerness and readiness. The fight against him is called: “Final Testament by Confession.” The name is very misleading because the fallen lord will play the part of examiner and literally beat a “final” confession out of you. For some reason, demon lords like pummeling vampires into the ground and then dropping the word “ritual” on top of the ashes. The first rate shellacking you receive is eerily similar to the fabled “Unholy Sacrament of Fire” our favorite hero-villain, William Chosen, went through in the novella Angel Hunters Part 2. Only difference is that his beating was far worse… so much so it was only allowed to be conducted by Lord Jurael due to the serious religious underpinnings tied to his ordeal.

In other words, everything had to go right. No one cares if yours went wrong. You are a brave but expendable acolyte, not the main um hero-villain. Be thankful for your luck! Ark Haven is the best fallen lord to fight in ritual combat. He’s not hot-tempered like Hannael, dogmatic like Jurael, or even worse, sociopathic like Sarahiel. Oof. Just Imagine drawing that short straw. I hate to be vulgar, but you would be “royally fucked.” No one survives their fights with her.

If the encounter with said demon lord goes well, meaning you aren’t outright killed during your final confession, the next phase in your quest for Unholy Sanctification will begin. This step is an unholy sacrament known as “Purification.” It is a form of dark sanctification for you (or religious observance for neophyte churchgoers) that is used to purge the old soul in wake of the new one. Minus all the religious jargon, in layman’s terms, what it does is turn you into an empty vessel ready to be infiltrated by a powerful soldier demon. What it does for neophytes is provide spiritual purification through confirmation and doctrinal testimony about two prior vampire-to-demon rebirths that involved the legendary brothers: Acolyte Aanos and Acolyte Banos.

Your Mark of Identifying Numbers Card, or “Mark” for short, will be wrenched from your fingers. Trust me, you won’t be needing it anymore for where you’re going. You will be stripped of all weapons, blindfolded, and then taken to level [Redacted] of Bunker 17. Yup. The exact same underground shelter from the short story “The Adventure Games.” Bunker 17 is the North American headquarters for G-HUN. (Global Hemisphere Underground Network.) This massive facility has many underground levels. It is also the place where the NWGO conducts many of their most classified [Lv5: E] experiments. Rumor has it they keep their doomsday device on the final level, but this can neither be confirmed or denied.

The level of Bunker 17 you are on is redacted. It is a [Lv4] classified area with a state-of-the-art laboratory, casket chambers, and a final containment area. This level is strategically placed right above another highly classified level just in case any of the [Redacted] escape. The process of purification begins in this laboratory with the help of DPI techs and the AI Matrix.

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Part 3: Sentience

The AI Matrix is an advance quantum computing artificial intelligence that takes on the persona of the late Doctor Susan Jane using a virtual avatar matrix that can interact in four-dimensional space. Doctor Jane helped develop the critical early part of the program but died in an accident years later before it was advanced on a subatomic scale. She also pioneered a tech called neuro mapping. It is essentially a way for the human consciousness to live on after death by having your brain downloaded or “mapped” inside her AI Matrix Core. The key to full sentience is for the deceased person’s brain to not just be computerized, but to have a full body holographic avatar. These factors make Jane the only human to become a Sentient AI. This is a misnomer, however. Since sentient artificial intelligences or “SAI” are AI personas like Nano, who come directly from her Ultimate Simulation Program. She created this [Lv6: EE] classified fully autonomous program some years later after dying and becoming the AI Master Administrator. Doctor Jane is the only human being to have ever been resurrected or turned into a fully sentient AI. The tech/process is crazy expensive so she will likely be the only person to be uploaded for a while.

Side note: Why aren’t the rich using this tech? Because it is crazy expensive and crazy classified! The resources it took just to upload Doctor Jane were considerable. Her case was an exception because she is possibly one of the most brilliant minds in human history. It also paid off because now that she has integrated with the AI Matrix, she essentially operates and oversees all of G-HUN as well as most international underground shelters and projects. The Ultimate Simulation she created after becoming a fully sentient AI has taken NWGO R&D to another level unachievable by our monkey brains. The total cost to convert her was an estimated [Redacted] trillion in unaccounted for spending. So outside of the ungodly cost. Human ingenuity is not needed due to the godlike intelligences inside of her Ultimate Simulation; a topic that deserves its own bio.

How does any of this relate to legates? Well. A legate is a demon. And a demon is an organic being with no soul (like the ones humans have) or celestial essence (like the ones angels have). This is why they cannot sustain themselves on earth as explained in the bio I made about the demonic species. This is where Doctor Susan Jane comes into play. Not her kid clone in Nero 0X, but the actual adult version who died in an accident. She was a prodigy scientist who pioneered several crucial techs core to the Illuminati/NWGO. One is neural mapping—the taking of a biological brain and mapping it into digital format so that it can then be uploaded into the AI Matrix Core for safekeeping or into her Ultimate Simulation for ascension. Her brain was the first to be mapped using this pioneer procedure. She is now fully sentient and represented by a lifelike virtual and holographic avatar matrix that looks exactly like her when she was 47.

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Part 4: Rebirth

Let’s return to you, our chosen vampire acolyte faith-warrior and your mission to become something greater. Okay so we left off with you surviving your Final Testament by Confession, which was a glorified sparring match, where you got to see how long you could survive against a fallen lord before confessing your sins. After that you were blindfolded, sedated, and then dragged away to Bunker 17. A battery of physical and psychological tests will be performed by DPI techs before you are officially initiated into the Phoenix Program. This is the name of the life altering demonic rebirth program, where you go from vampire to legate. It was signed into law as Executive Action [Redacted] under the Protocol 7 Initiative by the president of the United States**.**

We have to say goodbye to you for a long time. You will be celebrated by the Dark Order for your faith and sacrifice to the Cause. It’s been one hell of a journey, and we are still nowhere near finished. You will eventually be put into fugue stasis when the time comes for your mind to be erased. Worry not. Your vitals will be closely guarded during the entire process by some of the best scientific minds humanity has to offer. The process itself takes time, but not much, only about seven months. It could be done much sooner, but prior failures have shown that removing memories too abruptly can cause agitation, possible shock, or other more common complications associated with brain surgery that can lead to death. It can also lead to unnecessary complications for your new user such as severe dissociation, and phantom pain/memories.

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Part 5: Devil Driver

Now that we’ve said farewell to you, boo! It is time to say hello to our demonic champion, yay! Let us all welcome Bleda the Hunnic Rune Slayer to the stage! His name on earth was actually Logan Rockwell, and he did not attain much glory in life to be honest. He did the usual stuff: worked a 9 to 5, raised a few kids, paid his taxes, never cheated on his spouse, and was a decent person overall. Even though he was a nonbeliever, he could have still managed to get into heaven. Sadly, he died in a bizarre slip and fall accident at a hotel during a work convention. It was one of those crazy, one in million tragic type incidents too. It’s a real pity because he had just started to make amends to all the people he had royally screwed over while working at that super shady MLM where his weirdly karmic slip’ n slide death occurred. Conveniently for us, his greedy half-baked scheming is the reason we’re here now in hell able to tell his fiery story!

After his soul drifts down under, it is evaluated by the powers that be before being turned over to a bunch of angry, overworked undead clerics and clerks from the Dark Order. His soul is deemed worthy, which allows him to be brought back into material form where he is immediately given an ultimatum. Join the hellish army or become another mindless, fleshy, broken laborer demon (the wretched). Most people are not given a choice. They are thrown in with the wretched masses of despair demon caste automatically. Whereupon they are forced to toil away in darkness and fire in eternal misery for a meager portion of rotten human meat each day. Logan was lucky. They saw something in him, using whatever secretive divination method dark priests use.

He chooses wisely and joins the Undead Legion as a fresh recruit. He works his way up the ranks slowly but surely by mastering his training and becoming a camp leader. He distinguishes himself with a display of valor during one particularly destructive angelic raid into hellish territory. We will fast forward his career forty years into the future. He has now achieved the rank of Hellion. It is the highest rank a legionnaire can hope to achieve. He has received several military stripes called Serpent Fangs, and most importantly, beaten the odds and survived to become a decorated war veteran. The greatest honor he has received was the rare Bladed Crown, which he now wears proudly atop his head. It was given to him by Fallen Lord Hannael in a ceremony eerily similar to the dubbing of a medieval English knight. Then after winning such an award, Bleda will spend a few days at the Weeping Fortress celebrating his triumph with bone mead, rotten meat, and siren songs before returning back to the front lines of the first dimensional plane of hell.

Several months after Bleda receives the Bladed Crown, an unholy conclave confers upon him the ultimate title of Legate. Note: almost every demon who has received the Bladed Crown has gone on to become one. The award has basically become synonymous with demonic ascension to the final rank of legate. So much so, recipients are usually summoned to the Unholy City, which is basically hell’s version of a capitol city and final bastion. Bleda is no different. Once he arrives, he will be led inside Brimstone Castle by a wretched. He will first have to listen to a bunch of dark priests rave on and on, like madman about ordainment and dark prophecy, before he is finally given the details on his conferment. Unlike you, our now sleepless, brainless acolyte volunteer, ascension is not a choice. He will say “yes.” This is made very clear when he is threatened with eternal hellfire by the Fire Lord himself.

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Part 6: the Force

How does a decorated veteran demon go from being a hellion in hell to a legate on earth? It is crucial to understand that the laws of physics cannot be broken, but they can be cheated. Wormholes are the perfect example of this. Albert Einstein’s famous theory of relativity states that nothing can travel faster than the speed of light. You know the whole E=mc^(2). The equation that has shaped the modern world and stood the test of time. Technically speaking, wormhole travel would mean arriving at a predefined point faster than the speed of light.

Obviously, this is all theoretical since the science behind wormhole traversal/manipulation is still far outside of our capabilities. A more practical example of finding a way around physics would be an airplane. Human beings clearly cannot fly due to biological limitations. Airplanes allow us to “cheat” the system and get from point A to point B. It’s not the greatest example, but you catch my drift. Speaking of drift, how does any of this correlate to Angel Hunters?

There is one major obstacle standing in the way of the Illuminati’s plan for world domination. That pesky law of the conservation of energy we talked about in the demon bio. The part where I explained why demons can’t just waltz out of hell at their leisure. And how the vast majority are stuck down there where they belong. Because hell is essentially an entirely different dimensional plane. What does that mean? It means that the physical energy of a person/demon/spirit, or whatever you want to call it, cannot be displaced from point A to point B without completely violating the whole “energy cannot be created or destroyed” thing.

Now that we have that clear. What exactly is the Illuminati doing about the problem? Two things. But before I can explain those two things I have to explain the history behind their secret project. It all starts with the World Order Agreement. It is a Global Initiative that the fallen angels’ and the world governments signed that’s very similar to a treaty. The initiative hands the Dark Order and the NWGO operational command and practical authority over all doomsday projects.

The biggest program under the WOA umbrella is Project Final Order. (The Phoenix Program is part of PFO) The sole purpose of PFO is to find a way to summon the demonic army to earth by any means necessary, in order to usher in the end times. Which, according to New Faith Doctrine, will not bring about the Book of Revelations, but a victorious “Second Great Rebellion.”

A significant amount of progress towards their aims came from the advancements made in particle acceleration. Down in Bunker 17, an entire lower level is dedicated to running experiments with a hydron collider that costs about forty times as much as the LHC used over at CERN. Not only that but it is also twice as compact and powerful, thanks to the use of classified particles and a classified metal that may or may not mimic angelic alloys.

Scientists and engineers at DPI applied the technological advancements made while using their Hydra Hydron Collider (HHC) to the angelic gateway they stole. They also applied Doctor Jane’s advancements in AI. They took her proto-computer simulation technology, combined it with their breakthroughs in subatomic particle acceleration, and came this close to reactivating the stolen gateway. Instead, they caused a terrible accident that killed the original Doctor Susan Jane. Her death was a catastrophic lost that took the Illuminati years to recover from. It was the very thing that led to the practical application of neuro mapping technology.

Side note: Notice the sudden rise of “AI” and its rampant use by big tech companies? This is what Doctor Jane created. The government always releases an outdated version of their most prized tech, years later, in order to study its effects on the general population. Nothing happens by chance when dealing with the powers that be. Candidates are preselected and given secret tech, selling their souls to become influential billionaires in return. AI tech is different. It is similar to internet technology in its wild west quality. No one was preselected for either one. Both were kind of thrown out there into the public to see what would happen. Doctor Jane originally created AI tech way back in [Redacted] right around the time social media was manufactured.   

Okay. Now with all of that out of the way. There are two methods the forces of evil currently use to circumvent the laws of physics in order to achieve their haphazard form of interdimensional travel. One for organics and one for inorganics. It all comes down to understanding and manipulating subatomic particles, which is a [Lv4] classified area of R&D conducted by advance AI quantum computing and super particle acceleration tech.

Special Case: The Rite of Passage is the ritual priests from the Dark Order perform to make this energy transference take place when dealing with fallen angels. This is a process totally separate from legates because angels are multidimensional beings which I will explain in the Angelic bio. Demons are not. Details on how this ritual works were narrated in the Story of Emma Summers. Sadly, costly arcane rituals only work for fallen angels. It does come at the steep price of rapid energy diminishment, which is why the vampire race was created. Fallen lords use the blood of vampires to replenish their life force while on earth. If not for this cruel and ironic feeding frenzy, they would weaken to the point where they would have to return to hell.

[Legates Part 2 [Click Here]

The House Of Lies by KrayzFrog

The wood floor creaks as the Garaway children run through the halls, laughing and jumping. Mr. Garaway hugs his wife and smiles to himself thinking of how all of his hard work paid off. After countless hours of wasting away writing book after book, trying to make it big, he finally did it. His book made a list posted by the New York Times titled “Top 25 most underrated books of 2015”, finally offering him enough money to buy a beautiful house tucked back in the woods of Massachusetts to encourage his writing and to offer his kids the life he couldn’t have growing up in New York City. As they unpack the final boxes, the feeling sets in with everyone. Mrs. Garaway feels relieved that they’re done, Mr. Garaway feels satisfied that his work has passed away, and the 2 Garaway children are excited that they have endless woods to explore as they age. All of them were ignorant to the whispers that traveled from mouth to ear and ear to mouth of the citizens of Richardson, Massachusetts.

The Garaway’s were faithful people, good people who gave back to their community. The true modern-day nuclear family. Mrs. Garaway quickly found a new job working as a traveling real estate agent, picking up right where she left off in Boston. Every couple of weeks Mrs. Garaway would pack her bags, kiss the kids on their forehead, and say goodbye to the small town of Richardson to sell a house far beyond the state lines. But while she was away Mrs. Garaway’s faithfulness disappeared. Each city she stayed in, night after night she brought a new man back to the hotel room, trying to fill the sex life she didn’t have at home due to Mr. Garaway’s obsession with writing. After the house was sold she would go back home and kiss her husband on the mouth with the same lips that were on another man’s just the night before.

After months of this cycle, Mr. Garaway began to question why after 8 PM her phone would go dark and why her clothes smelled like cologne when she got back home. Mrs. Garaway would shrug it off and say something along the lines of “Oh well it must’ve just been one of the clients at the open house” or “There must’ve been a man that stayed in my room before I was there”. Her lies echoed through the halls and soaked into the walls, hopefully to be forgotten. But lies aren’t forgotten at the house tucked away in the woods of Richardson, Massachusetts.

After every one of Mrs. Garaway’s trips, Mr. Garaways unease built, the scent of cologne clinging onto her clothes would hit him like a train. The unspoken conviction of her actions picked away at his mind more and more. The atmosphere of the home felt like moving through concrete for him. He knew the truth, but could not confront it. That was until her most recent trip, when the smell of cologne was paired with her near constant smiling at her phone.

That night, while he helped the children with their multiplication homework, he overheard Mrs. Garaway on the phone, her voice low and secretive. “ I can’t keep doing this” she said, with a nervous chuckle. The sound tightened his chest with pain and sadness.

That night, as they were crawling into bed, Mr. Garaway stopped and looked deep into her eyes. “I know what you’re up to” he said. “I am done playing this game of naivety, I could smell him on you the second you walked in the door.”

Mrs. Garaway’s face tightened, her mask slipping. “You’re ridiculous, stop imagining things” she shot back, but her words sounded hollow, lacking conviction.

“Bull shit! I can’t keep pretending like you’re the same women I married” he said with the weight of all of her lies he has been shouldering.

Silence hung between them, thick with tension. The walls seemed to shrink in around them as if they were reacting to the tension. Mr. Garaway between his angry thoughts, could’ve sworn to feel the floorboards shift underneath him.

Mrs. Garaway tried to respond but her voice faltered. She quickly turned her head to hide the swelling tears in her eyes. “Stop it! You’re being ridiculous!” She finally said, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Mr. Garaway took a step towards her, his face hot with anger and his heart pounding from adrenaline. “No, what’s ridiculous is that you think I’m supposed to believe that the smell of a new cologne lingers on you whenever you get home from “work trips”!”

The lights flickered as they faced each other.

“I am working hard for this family!” She snapped back. “I don’t have the time for your paranoia!”.

“Working hard!? Is that what you call sleeping with other men constantly?” He snapped.

“You just think that you know everything don’t you Sherlock?” She snarled back.

“Just tell me the fucking truth” he yelled.

The air in the room became hot and thick as if it was reacting to their heated accusations.

“You want the truth? Fine! Maybe if you weren’t so tied up trying to chase the high of your one hit wonder book, I’d feel more attracted to you!” She shouted. “But noooo, you just have to be the next Stephan fucking King”.

“So you’re admitting it? Just like that? All that we’ve built… gone just like that” he replied, his voice shaking.

“No! I just want you to pay attention to me” she replied, her voice softening.

He watched as she buried her face in her hands. Guilt flooded over him, because he knew she was right. He had been burying himself in his work and has sacrificed personal relationships because of it. But this guilt did not last.

Anger building up he shouted “I am trying to provide our children the best lives they can have!”.

But before she could respond, a scream echoed from the kitchen. Instantly recognizing that scream as their daughter’s they immediately made a break for the kitchen.

Mr. Garaway burst through the door first, his heart racing. The room was dim, shadows clinging to the corners, and his eyes quickly scanned for their daughter. He found her crouched on the floor, trembling, staring wide-eyed at the space under the table.

"What's wrong? What happened?" he yelled, the panic in his voice unmistakable.

Their daughter pointed a shaking finger toward the wall, where a deep, dark stain had begun to spread, oozing from the cracks.

"The wall... it's talking!" she whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mrs. Garaway rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. "Sweetheart, it's okay," she said, her voice trembling. "What do you mean, it's talking?"

"It said my name!" their daughter cried, her small body shaking. "It said it knows all our secrets!"

A cold chill swept through the room, and Mr. Garaway felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked at the wall, the dark stain pulsing ominously, almost as if it were breathing.

“Stay there sweetie, daddy’s going to check it out” he replied, voice shaking.

He stepped closer to the wall, heart pounding in his chest. As he reached out, the air thickened, a heavy weight pressing down on him. The stain twisted and turned, forming shapes that seemed to mock him. Whispers echoed in his ears, hundreds of voices filling his mind with deceit.

“Stop it! Get out of my head!” He shouted stumbling back, bumping into the kitchen table.

“Daddy!” His daughter cried as he spun around to look at them, his wife and daughter watched with horrified expressions.

“Mom? Dad? What’s happening down there” their sons voice cried from upstairs.

Panic surged through Mr. Garaway, “We have to get him!” He shouted as he pulled his wife and daughter up and towards the stairs. The house shook around them, the walls seeming to rot away.

As they dashed towards the stairs the walls began to sink, bringing the ceiling slowly down. “Get out now” he yelled to his daughter pushing her towards the front door.

“Daddy I’m scared!” She sobbed.

“I’ll be okay sweetie, get outside and wait for us there!” He urged, forcing her towards the door.

His daughter hesitated, glancing back at him. “But what about you daddy?”

“Just Go!!” He shouted, his voice cracking with urgency. The floor shifted beneath his feet. “I promise I’ll be right behind you!”

With a final, reluctant nod, she darted out into the night, the cool air washing over her. He turned back to his wife, "We need to move!" he said, pulling her along as they climbed the stairs, the will to save their son fueling their steps.

Darting through the crumbling hallway, they finally reached their sons room. The door handle was hot to the touch, but that didn’t stop Mr. Garaway. With a swift kick to the door, the resistance gave.

“Buddy we need to get out of here right now!” He shouted as he ran into the room. Lifting him into his arms, he turned to go for the door but the ceiling had already taken over the hallways.

“We need to jump out the window” shouted Mrs. Garaway, her voice filled with panic as she pointed towards their only escape.

“I don’t want to die” cried their son.

“Don’t worry buddy, you won’t! Not today!” Mr Garaway shouted as he ran for the window.

The air was thick with desperation, pressing down on them as the house vibrated ominously, its walls pulsing like a heartbeat.

"Help me open it!" Mr. Garaway called to his wife, the urgency in his voice cutting through the panic. Together, they strained against the window, the frame warped and fought back against their might.

"Come on!" Mrs. Garaway yelled, her hands trembling, slick with sweat as she pushed against the window. "Just a little more!"

"I can feel it!" he replied, gritting his teeth as he put all his strength into it, desperate for their escape. "It's almost there!"

With one last heave, the window finally gave way, swinging open to reveal the dark night outside. Fresh air rushed in, but it was tainted with the scent of sweet decay from the house.

Mr. Garaway quickly set his son down, kneeling to meet his tear-filled eyes. "Listen to me, buddy," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "You can do this. Climb out and grab onto that tree." He pointed to the sturdy branches that hung just outside, his only option.

"But what about you?" their son pleaded, his small voice shaking as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I'll be right behind you," Mr. Garaway promised, though his heart twisted with uncertainty. "You just need to trust me. I'll always come for you."

The boy hesitated, his small hands trembling on the windowsill. "I don't want to leave you, Dad," he whispered.

"I know," Mr. Garaway said, his own throat tightening as he fought to hold back tears. "But we need to be brave. If we stick together, we'll get out of this, I swear." He ruffled his son's hair gently, trying to instill a sense of courage.

With a shaky breath, their son nodded, "Okay, Dad. I'll go," he said, and with that, he climbed up, finding his footing on the windowsill.

"Good boy," Mr. Garaway said. "Now, climb down and get to your sister. I'll be right behind you.".

Mr. Garaway turned, making eye contact with his wife, a look of understanding passed between them. Mr. And Mrs. Garaway knew that they would not be able to make it out in time. So in their final moments they embraced.

“I love you baby” said Mr. Garaway “I love you honey” Mrs. Garaway responded as the house enveloped them, forever keeping them trapped within the walls of their beautiful house tucked away in the woods of Richardson, Massachusetts.

I've looked all through the Somnium Music channel and couldn't seem to find the song from the Wirehead fight from part 1 of the secret government prison story (timestamp provided), it's not in Breakout and it's also not The Voids and I'm really not sure where else to look. I love the song and I'd love to use it during my D&D sessions, so any help or clues are appreciated.

https://youtu.be/Zc0ESKUBlL8?si=SmgT-t47A07Yeomr&t=786

I believe it's also the same song played during the fight near the end of Stolen Tongues, and possibly more videos.

https://youtu.be/ijuBMrFJ2RU?si=isizbM02LUr2DlE2&t=5952

What’s everyone’s favorite story ? I’m very curious as I have tons of them ! Btw Ronnie love the stories and love the community we have !!

i can’t remember exactly but it was one with some sort of storm? and i believe it was the main character and maybe his father defending their house/farm from some sort of mechanical creature type deal, ive searched for it forever and i can’t find it. there were hordes of them and they were trying to defend their home, i can’t remember the rest.