Chapter 3
Ush gasped for air. His white shirt remained untouched by the terror that had turned his limbs to jelly. Yet the same hands that gripped the baseball bat now held smoldering parchments, their unholy heat searing his skin like brands. These were forbidden texts, things that should have been burned, writings even the weakest djinn feared to touch.
Every time he turned, the angel was there. It appeared without sound, small wings fluttering lazily. Not in protection, but in mockery. A cruel reminder that Ush was just one piece in some damned cosmic puzzle.
The worst came when it pressed the sacred text against his forehead. Not to bless, but to brand.
"NO!" Ush screamed, throwing the cursed pages away with all his strength. But they didn't fall. They hovered, spinning around him like vultures circling prey. All while the angel's wings beat closer, their sound growing louder, more painful with each passing second.
Ush collapsed to his knees, hands clutching his head. Through his fingers, he saw the scripture still advancing, its holy letters glowing too bright to bear. This light didn't heal. It burned.
"Begone, wretched runt," the angel whispered.
Ush's mind raced. Maybe he could use this somehow. He wasn't the type to accept fate quietly. Even spoken softly, the angel's words felt like poison dripping into his ears. His body moved before his mind could think, throwing him behind the overturned table as his breath came in panicked gasps.
The wooden table became his only shield.
Gripping the bat tighter, he peered through the narrow gap beneath the table and saw his chance. With a sudden burst of energy, his small body shot forward, rough wood scraping his back as he rolled clear. Something invisible smashed into the spot where he'd just been, the impact shaking the floor.
"Not that easy!" Ush spat as he scrambled up.
In one quick motion, he righted the table, creating a temporary barrier. His sharp eyes darted around the room, searching for escape routes, for anything he could use as a weapon.
This fight wasn't over.
And nothing about it would be fair.
"Thus the Praised One begins, ready to end whenever and wherever the ordained flow dictates."
The angel moved with impossible speed. A blade of pure light erupted from its delicate fingers as it touched the table's surface. Solid wood split cleanly into seven pieces, each fragment falling with an unnatural whisper against the floor.
Ush staggered back, squinting against the glare.
The light pulsed like a living thing, warping the very air around them. The seven wooden fragments didn't scatter randomly. They arranged themselves in a perfect circle, forming geometric patterns that made Ush's skull throb with pain.
The angel didn't need to approach. Its mere presence made the air vibrate. Each beat of its small wings released impossible colors, hues that shouldn't exist in the mortal world. They swirled like smoke, searing patterns directly into Ush's retinas.
His hands shook around the baseball bat, the weapon suddenly absurd in this confrontation with divine power.
Yet when he caught his distorted reflection in the polished wood fragments, he saw his own lips curl into a smile devoid of sweetness. Retreat wasn't an option.
"You won't take me that easily," he growled, stomping through the circle of glowing wood.
Each step burned. Smoke rose from his melting shoes as he marched forward. Better to burn than become part of their game. Especially when the players were Heaven's own monsters.
"Damn it! Damn it all!"
"Run, then. The Almighty grants you this mercy."
Ush exploded up the staircase, his wild footsteps shattering the silence. Short, ragged breaths tore from his lungs, but he didn't stop. Adrenaline scorched through his exhausted muscles. Let his body break, so long as it carried him further from the horrors below.
The wooden stairs groaned under his weight. He didn't look back, didn't check if pursuit had begun. His only thought: up. Always up. Away from whatever lurked in the depths.
As he climbed, the air turned piercingly cold. The change welcomed him, proof that the holy fire's reach had limits. Halfway up, Ush gripped the railing, bending double to catch his breath. Between the steps, he could see faint pulses of light still glowing below.
But here, in this height, only ordinary light remained.
For the first time since this nightmare began, Ush smiled. Even in this brightness, his vision stayed clear. No divine interference. No burning retinas.
"He can't appear here," Ush whispered.
The wind howled in response.
"Praise be!"
"Glory to the Most High!"
"Rejoice!"
Voices echoed from nowhere and everywhere, their joyous tones laced with menace. Ush's smile faded as the stairway trembled. The rules had changed again.
Ush paused only for a moment before forcing himself forward, each step more urgent than the last. His breath came heavy, but his resolve remained unshaken.
Then, from the thin mist at the top of the stairs, five white doves burst forth like living bullets. Their wings beat violently against his face, sharp beaks narrowly missing his eyes. The unexpected assault sent him stumbling backward, nearly tumbling down the staircase before he managed to grip the railing with desperate strength.
"Damn it!" Ush spat, shaking his head to dislodge the birds. White feathers scattered, some still clinging to his open mouth as he gasped for air.
Without hesitation, he pushed onward, moving faster now, more recklessly. In his panic, he failed to notice the large pendulum clock hanging from the ceiling until it swung hard into his path. The impact sent a metallic clang reverberating through the narrow hallway, shattering the silence.
Pain flared, but Ush ignored it.
He kept running, screaming to drown out the sacred hymns that never ceased, their melodies oozing from the very walls. Each note felt like a needle stabbing his eardrums.
"SHUT UP!" Ush roared, his voice ragged as he clamped his hands over his ears. Yet the singing only grew louder, sharper, as if the building itself had come alive just to torment him.
And Ush knew—he had to keep moving. To stop was to lose. And losing here meant something far worse than death.
To be continued...