12 Oct Ethan Hell

Chapter 1

Ethan Hull’s eyes scanned the crowded emergency room of Forestview Medical Center, his mind already in overdrive despite the shift having only just begun. The ER was packed, as usual, with the unmistakable chaos of a Monday morning. Nurses and doctors darted between curtained-off bays, responding to the urgent needs of patients, their faces set in the stoic expressions of those accustomed to the worst.

Ethan’s hands moved on autopilot, methodically preparing a syringe for a patient writhing on a nearby gurney. He glanced down at his patient, a young man in his early twenties, drenched in sweat and shaking uncontrollably. Another overdose, Ethan thought, trying to push away the frustration that gnawed at his already frayed nerves. This wasn’t what he had envisioned when he’d decided to become a nurse. But then again, nothing about his life had gone quite as planned.

“Ethan, we’ve got another one coming in—possible GSW, ETA two minutes,” a voice crackled through the overhead speaker. The charge nurse, Shelly, never missed a beat, her voice as calm as ever. Ethan nodded to himself, finishing the injection and stepping back to observe his patient. The young man’s tremors began to subside, his breathing evening out as the medication took hold.

For a moment, Ethan allowed himself to breathe. He could feel the familiar tightness in his chest beginning to ease, only to be replaced by the creeping dread of what was yet to come. Another gunshot wound. Another life on the line. Another chance for everything to go wrong.

He moved quickly, discarding his gloves and stepping out of the room. As he did, his mind wandered back to Emily, his fiancée, and the scene he had left behind that morning. Their small apartment had been in disarray, the remnants of Emily’s latest bender scattered across the living room. Empty wine bottles, cigarette butts in the ashtray—an all-too-common sight these days. Sherman, their golden retriever, had followed him to the door, his soulful eyes filled with the silent plea for normalcy that Ethan couldn’t provide.

The relationship had been different once. He remembered when Emily had been vibrant, full of life and laughter. They’d met in college, both pursuing careers in healthcare—Ethan in nursing, Emily in radiology. They had clicked immediately, their shared passion for helping others binding them together. But over time, the stress of their jobs, combined with Emily’s growing dependency on alcohol, had eroded the foundation of their relationship. Now, ten years later, they were little more than strangers sharing the same space.

A sudden crash snapped Ethan out of his reverie, pulling him back to the present. A patient down the hall had knocked over a tray of instruments, sending scalpels and syringes skittering across the floor. Ethan rushed over to help, his movements mechanical, his thoughts a world away.

As he stooped to pick up the fallen items, a sharp pain shot through his lower back. He winced but forced himself to keep moving. Pain was something he had grown accustomed to, both physical and mental. His body bore the marks of his profession—bruises from patients’ fists, scratches from clawing hands, and the dull ache in his back from years of bending over gurneys. His mind, too, carried its own scars, invisible but no less painful. The stress of the job weighed heavily on him, driving him to seek refuge in the few outlets he had left: the handful of hobbies he attempted during his rare moments of free time, and the painkillers and kratom that had become his crutch.

Ethan rose slowly, pocketing the last of the scattered instruments, and made his way to the nurses’ station. The chaos around him felt distant, like a movie playing out in the background. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, its hands crawling toward the noon hour. Only a few more hours to go.

“Ethan, you okay?” Shelly’s voice cut through the fog in his mind. She was standing across from him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, just tired,” he replied, forcing a smile. “It’s been a rough morning.”

Shelly nodded, her expression softening. “Tell me about it. But hey, you’ve got your shift ending soon, right? Hang in there.”

Ethan nodded, grateful for the small bit of encouragement. Shelly had always been a rock for the team, her calm demeanor and unwavering support a beacon in the storm of the ER. But even she couldn’t see how deep the darkness within him had grown, how close he was to the edge.

The doors to the ER swung open, and the paramedics rushed in with the gunshot victim. Ethan pushed aside his thoughts, his professional mask slipping into place as he moved to assist. The world narrowed to the patient in front of him, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors, the blood soaking through gauze and bandages.

But even as he worked, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered of the inevitable. This was his life now—a cycle of violence, pain, and temporary relief. And as the chaos of the ER raged on, he knew, deep down, that something had to give.

Chapter 2

The clatter of metal and the rapid beeping of monitors filled the ER as Ethan fought to keep the patient on the gurney alive. Blood spurted from the young man’s abdomen, staining Ethan’s gloves a deep crimson. The gunshot wound had torn through flesh and muscle, leaving a gaping hole that refused to stop bleeding despite the pressure he applied.

“Where’s that damn surgeon?” Ethan muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The patient’s pulse was weak, thready, a clear sign that time was running out. Shelly stood by his side, holding a tray of instruments, her face set in a mask of concentration.

“They’re on their way,” she replied, her voice steady. “Just keep him stable.”

Ethan gritted his teeth, focusing on the task at hand. The blood was warm and slick under his fingers, and he could feel the life slipping away from the man beneath him. The world around him seemed to fade into a blur, the voices of the other nurses and doctors merging into a distant hum. All that mattered was keeping this one life tethered to the earth for just a little longer.

But the man’s body had other plans. Ethan felt the pulse beneath his fingers flutter, then fade completely. He moved quickly, starting chest compressions, his mind repeating the rhythm—thirty compressions, two breaths. He worked methodically, his movements automatic, but in his gut, he knew it was futile. The patient was slipping away, and there was nothing more he could do.

The surgeon burst into the room, but it was too late. The man’s heart had stopped, and despite their best efforts, it refused to start again. After what felt like an eternity, the surgeon shook his head, signaling for Ethan to stop.

Ethan stepped back, his hands shaking, his breath coming in short gasps. The adrenaline that had kept him going drained away, leaving him hollow. He felt the weight of another lost life settle on his shoulders, a familiar, crushing burden.

“Call it,” the surgeon said quietly, and the words cut through Ethan like a knife.

“Time of death: 12:47 p.m.,” Ethan heard himself say, his voice sounding distant, hollow. He pulled off his blood-soaked gloves, tossing them into the bin with more force than necessary.

“You did all you could, Ethan,” Shelly said, placing a hand on his shoulder. But her words offered no comfort. He had heard them too many times before, and they had lost their meaning.

Ethan nodded absently, but his mind was elsewhere. He turned on his heel and walked out of the trauma bay, his thoughts a whirlwind of frustration and exhaustion. He needed a moment to breathe, to escape the suffocating confines of the ER.

He made his way to the break room, his movements stiff and jerky. The room was empty, save for a half-empty pot of coffee and a few scattered chairs. Ethan slumped into one, burying his face in his hands. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos just beyond the door. But the silence did little to soothe him. Instead, it amplified the noise in his head, the constant, relentless chatter of his thoughts.

He could feel the “red zone” creeping up on him, the mental space he slipped into when the stress became too much to bear. It was a place where everything felt distant and unreal, like he was watching his life unfold from outside his body. In the red zone, his emotions dulled, his sense of self slipping away. It was a coping mechanism, one that had served him well in the past. But now, it felt like a trap, a prison he couldn’t escape.

His hand trembled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bottle of pills. Painkillers. They were the only thing that seemed to help anymore, dulling the edges of his pain, both physical and emotional. He popped a couple into his mouth, swallowing them dry. The bitterness coated his tongue, but he didn’t care. He just needed the pain to stop.

Ethan leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes and willing the pills to take effect. He imagined himself somewhere else—anywhere but here.

The door to the break room swung open, and Ethan’s eyes snapped open. One of his colleagues, a nurse named Mark, entered, looking as exhausted as Ethan felt.

“Hey, you okay?” Mark asked, grabbing a cup of coffee and slumping into a chair across from Ethan.

“Yeah, just… tired,” Ethan replied, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Mark nodded, taking a sip of his coffee. “I hear you. That last one was rough.”

Ethan didn’t respond. His mind was already drifting back to Emily, wondering how she was holding up. He had left her at home that morning, still passed out on the couch, an empty wine bottle clutched in her hand. He knew she was struggling, but he didn’t know how to help her. He didn’t even know how to help himself.

“I should get back,” Ethan said suddenly, pushing himself to his feet. He needed to keep moving, to stay busy. If he stopped, he was afraid he might never start again.

“Take it easy, man,” Mark called after him, but Ethan barely heard him. He was already halfway out the door, his mind focused on the next task, the next patient, anything to keep the seemingly inevitable crash at bay.

But the red zone wasn’t done with him yet.

* * * * * *

The rest of the shift passed in a blur, one patient after another, each more demanding than the last. Ethan worked on autopilot, his hands moving with practiced precision, his mind detached from the chaos around him. He knew he was nearing his breaking point, but he couldn’t afford to think about that now. Not when there were still patients to treat, lives to save.

It was late afternoon when the incident happened. Ethan was in one of the smaller examination rooms, tending to a patient who had come in with what appeared to be a simple stomachache. The man was fidgety, his eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape.

“Just relax,” Ethan said, pressing on the man’s abdomen, checking for signs of tenderness. “We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

The man didn’t respond, his eyes wide and wild. Ethan felt a prickling at the back of his neck, a sense of unease he couldn’t quite shake. He glanced up at the monitor, checking the man’s vitals. Everything seemed normal—heart rate a little elevated, but nothing to be concerned about.

“Do you have any pain here?” Ethan asked, pressing on the man’s side.

The man flinched, then suddenly rocketed forward, his hand shooting out toward Ethan’s throat. Ethan reacted instinctively, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it away. But the man was stronger than he looked, and before Ethan could fully process what was happening, he felt a sharp pain in his side.

He looked down, his breath catching in his throat as he saw the glint of metal. A knife—a small switchblade—had been hidden in the man’s hand. Blood was already seeping through Ethan’s scrubs, warm and sticky against his skin.

The weight of all of his anxiety and the combined pressure of the evening slammed into him like a freight train. Time seemed to slow, the edges of his vision darkening as his world narrowed to the man in front of him. The man was shouting something, but Ethan couldn’t hear the words. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the rush of blood in his ears.

Without thinking, Ethan lashed out, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw. The man stumbled back, the knife clattering to the floor. But Ethan didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. All rational thought was gone, replaced by a primal, animalistic rage.

He lunged at the man, his hands wrapping around his throat. He squeezed, his fingers digging into the man’s flesh, feeling the life drain out of him. The man struggled, his eyes bulging, his mouth opening in a silent scream. But Ethan didn’t let go. He couldn’t. The red zone demanded blood, and he was powerless to resist.

It wasn’t until the man’s body went limp that Ethan finally released his grip, stumbling back as if coming out of a trance. He looked down at his hands, covered in blood, and then at the man on the floor, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

The reality of what he had done hit him all at once, and Ethan crumpled to the floor, his back against the wall. His breath came in short, panicked gasps, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of the scene in front of him.

The door to the examination room burst open, and Shelly rushed in, followed by two security guards. They froze at the sight of Ethan, his hands stained red, the man’s lifeless body sprawled upon the floor.

“What… what happened?” Shelly whispered, her face pale.

Ethan couldn’t answer. He couldn’t even form a coherent thought. All he could do was sit there, rocking back and forth, mumbling to himself, his mind shattered.

The last thing he remembered before everything went black was the sound of sirens in the distance, growing louder and louder, until they drowned out everything else.

Chapter 3

Ethan awoke to the cold, hard surface of a jail cell floor, his body aching from the recent surgery that had saved his life. He groaned, pushing himself up slowly, feeling the pull of fresh sutures along his side. The wound throbbed with each movement, a sharp reminder of how close he had come to death.

Ethan glanced down at himself and realized he was no longer in his work-issued scrubs but in unfamiliar street clothes, hastily pulled on over his bandages. The hospital was a distant memory now; he had been patched up and then dumped into this bleak, dismal cell, left to rot while the world decided his fate.

The cell was confining, its walls a dull, oppressive gray. A narrow cot and a grimy toilet were the only furnishings, and a small barred window high above offered the only natural light. Ethan felt the weight of the place pressing down on him, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic, sweat, and despair.

He shivered, partly from the cold but mostly from the memory of what had landed him here. The man he had killed. The uncontrollable rage that had overtaken him. The knife, the blood, and the sheer brutality of it all. It had been self-defense—hadn’t it? The man had attacked him, slashed him with a concealed blade. Ethan had only reacted, hadn’t he?

But Ethan knew the truth. He had lost control. The man’s face as Ethan strangled the life out of him, the feeling of his hands around that throat, squeezing until nothing remained—it was too much to bear. The man had been armed, yes, but Ethan’s retaliation had been savage, far beyond what was necessary to protect himself. The footage, no doubt captured by the hospital’s security cameras, would show that clearly. And now, here he was, the consequences of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

The door to his cell clanked open, and a guard stepped in. The man’s face was hard, indifferent, as he placed a tray of food on the floor and left without a word, the door slamming shut behind him.

Ethan didn’t touch the tray. His stomach churned at the thought of eating. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to block out the reality of his situation. But it was no use.

He couldn’t stop replaying the events in his mind, over and over again. He had tried to defend himself, but the sheer ferocity of his response… it was something else entirely. He hadn’t just defended himself; he had annihilated the man in front of him. And now, he was going to pay for it.

* * * * * *

It was in the dead of night, with the darkness in his cell so complete that he could barely see his own hand in front of his face, that he felt it. A presence. Something cold, malevolent, and old, indescribably ancient, pressing in on him from all sides. He shuddered, his heart hammering in his chest as he strained to see through the darkness.

Then, as if summoned by his fear, a figure appeared at the far end of the cell.

Ethan’s breath caught in his throat. The man—or whatever it was—stood tall and imposing, dressed in a long, dark coat that reached the floor, with a wide-brimmed hat perched atop his head. But it was what obscured its face that sent a tremor through Ethan’s bones—a plague doctor’s mask, with its long, curved beak and empty, soulless eyes.

The figure took a step forward. The shadows seemed to ripple around the figure as he moved closer, the air growing increasingly frigid with each passing second.

“Mr. Hull,” the figure said, his voice smooth and unsettlingly calm. “I believe we have some matters to discuss.”

Ethan pressed back against the wall, his body trembling uncontrollably. “Who… who are you?” he stammered, barely able to form the words.

The figure tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. “You may call me Dr. Atticus Hargrove,” he replied, the name rolling off his tongue with a dark elegance. “I’m here to offer you a way out of your current predicament.”

Ethan blinked, trying to make sense of what was happening. “A way out? What do you mean?”

Dr. Hargrove moved closer, his glassy, inhuman eyes fixed on Ethan. “You’re facing grave consequences for your actions, Mr. Hull. Murder, they’re calling it. The evidence against you is overwhelming, I must say, and I’m afraid there is little hope for your freedom. But…I can offer you something different—a chance to escape this fate and become more than you ever imagined.”

Ethan shook his head, his voice breaking as he spoke. “It was self-defense. The guy attacked me. He had a knife… I didn’t mean to… It wasn’t murder.”

Dr. Hargrove chuckled softly, the sound echoing unnervingly in the small cell. “Ah, self-defense. That would be a fine argument, were it not for the brutality of your response. The footage, Mr. Hull… shows a man far beyond the bounds of reason or restraint. The sheer savagery of your actions, the disproportionate force—you didn’t just defend yourself. You obliterated him.”

Ethan’s heart sank. He knew it was true, but hearing it put so bluntly made it all the more real. “But… it was still self-defense,” he whispered, grasping at straws.

Dr. Hargrove’s voice turned cold, like a winter wind slicing through the soul. “No one will buy that, Mr. Hull. Not when they see what’s been captured on camera, not when they hear the testimony. And certainly not when they learn that the man you killed was the cousin of a very powerful local businessman. A man with influence, who will see to it that you pay dearly for what you’ve done, regardless of the circumstances.”

Ethan’s blood ran cold. He hadn’t known… How could he have known? But it didn’t matter now. If what Dr. Hargrove was saying was true, then his fate was sealed. No jury would ever see it as self-defense, not with the evidence stacked against him, not with someone powerful pulling the strings.

“What do you want from me?” Ethan asked, his voice all but betraying his rapidly fading resolve.

Dr. Hargrove’s masked face remained unreadable, but Ethan could sense a smile behind it. “What I demand is your servitude,” he replied smoothly. “You will carry out tasks on my behalf, and in return, I will grant you the means to not just survive, but to thrive. You’ll be free from this place, unbound by the laws that govern ordinary men.”

The words hung in the air, simultaneously tempting and terrifying. Ethan wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but agree to this monstrous proposition. But the alternative—the reality of rotting in this cell, burdened by his guilt, resigned to a life of misery—was even more unbearable.

“And if I refuse?” Ethan forced himself to ask, though he already knew the answer.

Dr. Hargrove’s tone was blunt, the edges of his words sharp and unforgiving. “Then you will remain here, a forgotten man, condemned by your own hand. Your life will end in obscurity and regret.”

Ethan closed his eyes. He knew he was standing on the precipice of an abyss, and that one step in either direction would change his life forever. But he also knew, instinctively, that he was too weak, too desperate, to resist the offer of salvation—no matter how dark the source.

“Yes,” Ethan whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ll do it. I’ll make the deal.”

Dr. Hargrove nodded, satisfaction evident in his posture. “Then our contract is sealed. Await my instructions, Mr. Hull. You’ll find that I am a man of my word.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, the room seemed to shift. The air grew thicker, the shadows darker. Ethan blinked, and in the span of a heartbeat, Dr. Hargrove was gone. He was alone, left to grapple with the gravity of what he had just agreed to.

* * * * * *

Hours later, the guards made their rounds, seemingly oblivious to the supernatural encounter that had taken place. As they glanced in through the bars, Ethan couldn’t help but stare at the security camera mounted in the corner of the room.

One of the guards noticed his gaze and shrugged. “Yeah, the cameras were on the fritz earlier,” the guard remarked. “Strange—when we checked the footage, it looked like you were talking to yourself.”

Ethan’s blood ran cold, but he said nothing. His mind was spinnning. The pain in his side was a dull yet ever-present throb, a constant reminder of the fragility of his life and the bargain he had made to preserve it.

As Ethan lay back on the cot, the hours crept by in agonizing silence, his heart pounding as he waited for the inevitable. And then, as midnight approached, the air in the cell grew thick and stifling once more. The temperature plummeted, his breath turning to fog before his eyes.

It was time.

Chapter 4

Dr. Atticus Hargrove appeared in the corner of the cell, his dark presence filling the room. Ethan felt the now-familiar chill that accompanied the plague doctor’s appearance, but this time, it was laced with a sense of impending doom. He knew that whatever was coming next would change him forever—physically, mentally, perhaps even spiritually.

“Hello again, Mr. Hull,” Dr. Hargrove said, his voice cutting through the night like a blade.

Ethan sat up on the cot, his hands trembling slightly as he braced himself for what was to come. He had made his choice, sealing his fate with that simple word—yes—and now there was no turning back. The air in the cell seemed to hum with an unnatural energy as Dr. Hargrove reached into his long, dark coat and produced a small vial filled with a dark, swirling liquid. The substance inside seemed to pulse with its own life, shifting colors as it caught the dim light.

“This will grant you the power you need to carry out my tasks,” Dr. Hargrove explained, extending the vial toward Ethan. “Drink it, and you will be transformed. But remember, you are bound to me now, and there is no turning back.”

Ethan stared at the vial. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw it away, to resist this dark path he had set himself on. But the pull of desperation, the fear of what awaited him without this pact, was irresistible.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Ethan took the container from Hargrove’s hand, the glass cool and smooth against his fingers. He hesitated for only a moment longer, then uncorked the vial and downed the contents in one gulp.

The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, a sensation unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was as if he had swallowed fire, the heat spreading through his body in a searing wave. Ethan gasped, clutching his chest as the pain intensified, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. He doubled over, falling off the cot and onto the cold concrete floor, writhing in pain as the mutation took hold.

Dr. Hargrove stood over him, unflinching, observing the process in silence.

Ethan’s vision blurred, his body convulsing as the elixir worked its way through his system. His muscles tightened, his skin stretched taut over his bones, and for a moment, he thought he might be torn apart from the inside out. Then, as suddenly as the pain had started, it began to subside, leaving behind an almost euphoric numbness.

He lay on the floor, panting, as a strange sensation of power washed over him. It was subtle at first, a tingling in his fingertips, a heightened awareness of the world around him. But it quickly grew, the power surging through his veins like a drug, intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

Ethan pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, feeling the strength coursing through his muscles. He was stronger—so much stronger than he had ever been. The pain in his side from the stab wound had vanished, and he could feel his heart beating steadily, thrumming with a newfound vigor, as if indestructible.

He slowly rose to his feet, his body wracked by the aftershocks of the transformation. His surroundings seemed sharper, more vivid, every detail standing out in stark relief. He could hear the distant footsteps of the guards, the faint hum of the electricity running through the building’s wires, even the soft breathing of another inmate in a neighboring cell.

Hargrove watched him closely, his head tilted slightly to the side as if appraising his handiwork. “You feel it, don’t you?” the plague doctor said, his voice smooth and confident. “The power. The strength. This is just the beginning, Mr. Hull. You are now capable of things far beyond your wildest imagination.”

Ethan nodded, though the reality of what he had just experienced was only beginning to sink in. He could feel the power within him, a dark, pulsating force that responded to his every thought and desire. But it was more than just physical strength—there was something else, something more profound. He could sense the presence of others around him, the faint echoes of their emotions and thoughts brushing against the edges of his consciousness.

“What have you done to me?” Ethan asked, his voice hoarse, a mix of awe and fear.

“I have given you the tools you require,” Dr. Hargrove replied. “Your body is now stronger, faster, more resilient than that of any ordinary human. You will heal quickly, endure pain that would break most men, and travel with a speed and agility that will appear supernatural to those around you. But that is not all.”

Ethan’s eyes widened as he listened, the implications of the doctor’s words sinking in. “There’s more?”

Dr. Hargrove nodded. “Indeed. You will find that your mind has been enhanced as well. You will perceive the world in ways you never could before, see things others cannot see. And most importantly, you will be able to recognize those who are damned—the ones destined for hell. You will know them on sight, feel the weight of their sins pressing against them.”

Ethan shuddered at the thought. “And what… what am I supposed to do with this power?”

Dr. Hargrove’s voice took on a sinister tone, the mask’s eyes seeming to bore into the very fabric of Ethan’s spirit. “You will carry out my will, Mr. Hull. You will be my instrument, my enforcer. Those who are marked for damnation must be dealt with, and you will be the one to do it. You will round them up, dispatch them as necessary, and deliver their souls to me.”

The enormity of Ethan’s actions crashed down on him, a wave of despair overwhelming his senses as the repercussions became crystal clear. He had sold his soul to the devil and become a monster in exchange for his life. And now, he was bound to do unspeakable things in the name of that bargain.

“But… these people… are they really damned?” Ethan asked, his voice trembling with fear and guilt. “How do I know they deserve this?”

Dr. Hargrove’s response was final, devoid of emotion. “You will know, Mr. Hull. The power I have given you will guide you. You will feel it in your bones, see it in their eyes. There shall be no doubt, no room for hesitation. You must act without question, without mercy.”

Ethan’s mind reeled. He had no choice—he was locked into a contract with a being of pure evil. On one hand, the power within him was seductive and intoxicating…but it came with a price. A price he wasn’t sure he was willing to pay.

Dr. Hargrove stepped back, his presence receding slightly, though the chill in the air remained. “I will return when it is time for your first task,” he said.

With those final words, Hargrove disappeared into the shadows, the darkness swallowing him whole. The cell door, which had been closed tightly just moments ago, creaked open of its own accord once again, the way clear for Ethan to leave.

He stood there for a moment, his heart pounding.  He was free—free from the cell, free from the mundane limitations of his old life. But the cost of that freedom was unimaginable, horrific beyond measure. What had he done?

Ethan stepped out of the cell, his movements smooth and controlled, the power within him responding to his every beck and call. He made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the jail, moving with an unexpected, exhilarating confidence.

As he passed by the guards, he noticed something strange—they didn’t react to him at all. It was as if he were invisible, a ghost passing through their midst. He glanced up at the security cameras mounted on the walls, but his image would never again be captured. To the outside world, his visage would be forever immemorable, blurred beyond recognition, his passage nothing more than a meaningless flicker of shadows.

Ethan made his way to the exit, the heavy doors swinging open as he approached. The wintry air hit him like a shock, the reality of his new life settling in. He was no longer just Ethan Hull, the nurse who had made a terrible mistake. He was something else now—someone powerful and dangerous.

And there was no turning back.

Chapter 5

The cold night air hit Ethan as he stepped out of the jail and into the deserted streets. The city of Minneapolis stretched out before him, a labyrinth of concrete and glass, its lights flickering like distant stars. He stood at the threshold for a moment, taking it all in, the weight of his newfound power settling heavily on his shoulders.

His body, once worn down by years of stress and injury, now pulsed with an unnatural energy. His senses were sharper, his movements more fluid, and his mind hummed with a strange new awareness. Yet, beneath the surface, there was an undercurrent of dread.

Ethan began walking, his footsteps echoing in the empty streets. He didn’t know where he was going; he only knew that he had to keep moving. His mind raced with the implications of the deal he had made with Dr. Hargrove. The power was intoxicating, yes, but the cost… the cost was something he wasn’t sure he could bear.

He knew he had to fulfill the tasks given to him by Dr. Hargrove, but the thought of taking more lives, of becoming a demon-serving puppet, filled him with a deep sense of revulsion. As he walked, his thoughts inevitably turned to Emily and Sherman. He hadn’t seen them since his arrest, and the guilt of abandoning them gnawed at his conscience.

Emily had always been the light in his life, even as their relationship had deteriorated under the weight of their respective struggles. She had her issues, yes, but he had loved her through it all. And Sherman, their loyal golden retriever—Ethan couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again, of leaving the dog to wonder why his master had disappeared.

Emily knew about his arrest—of course, she did. There was no way she couldn’t. Despite her constant inebriation, she had called him frantically after the incident at the hospital, leaving voicemails that grew increasingly panicked when he didn’t respond. Ethan could still hear her voice in his head, slurred and desperate, as she begged him to tell her what was going on.

She had learned the basics from the police who had come to the apartment, looking for anything that might explain why Ethan had snapped. They had told her about the surgery, how he had been attacked by a patient who had smuggled in a weapon, and how Ethan had retaliated in a moment of uncontrollable rage, killing the man. They had explained that it wasn’t just the act itself, but the sheer brutality of it, the disproportionate response that had led to his arrest and charges.

But Emily, in her fog of wine and despair, hadn’t fully grasped the gravity of it. To her, it was all a terrible mistake, something that could be fixed, something that would go away if they just tried hard enough. She had clung to the hope that Ethan would come home, that they could somehow move past this.

And now, as Ethan walked through the quiet streets, that hope was a knife in his heart. He had changed—there was no going back to the life they had before. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see her, to see Sherman, one last time, even if it was only to say goodbye.

As he approached the building, the familiar sight of their small apartment brought a lump to his throat. He paused outside the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. For a moment, he considered turning back, walking away before he could make things worse. But then he heard a sound—a soft whine from inside. Sherman.

The dog’s mournful cry broke through Ethan’s hesitation. He turned the knob and stepped inside, the door creaking softly as it opened. The apartment was dark, save for the faint glow of a lamp in the living room. Ethan could see Emily’s outline on the couch and a bottle of wine on the table in front of her. Sherman lay curled at her feet, his ears perking up as Ethan entered.

“Ethan?” Emily’s voice was thick with sleep and alcohol as she sat up, blinking in the dim light. “Is that you?”

Ethan hesitated in the doorway, unsure of how to explain himself. He had no idea how much she knew about what had happened since his arrest, but as he stepped further into the room, the look on Emily’s face shifted from confusion to relief.

“Ethan! Oh my God, it’s you, it’s really you!” she sputtered, trying desperately to hold back tears. “What are you doing here? I… they told me you were… that you couldn’t…” Her words trailed off as she stumbled to her feet, wrapping her arms around him.

Ethan stiffened at the contact, the warmth of her embrace both comforting and painful. He could feel the power inside him, pulsing beneath his skin, a constant reminder of what he had become. But for a moment, he allowed himself to hold her, to feel something other than the all-consuming dread that had overwhelmed him since his first encounter with Dr. Hargrove.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m okay… I’m okay.”

Emily pulled back slightly, her eyes searching his face. “What happened? How did you get here? I… I don’t know what to think…”

Ethan struggled for an explanation that wouldn’t terrify her, that wouldn’t reveal the darkness that accented his every thought. “It’s… complicated,” he finally said. “I’ve been dealing with… some things. But I’m here now.”

Sherman, sensing his master’s distress, nudged Ethan’s leg with his nose, his tail wagging weakly. Ethan knelt down, rubbing the dog’s head, feeling a pang of guilt as he looked into those trusting eyes. Sherman didn’t understand what had happened, but he could sense the change in Ethan, and that made the guilt even harder to bear.

As Ethan knelt there, something struck him. Despite everything that had changed about him, Emily and Sherman could see him perfectly fine. No blurring of his features, no distortion, just the familiar Ethan they had always known. He had noticed this earlier, but now, the realization hit him with full force. Somehow, he had control over who could see him clearly and who couldn’t. It was as if his subconscious decided who was allowed to see him as he truly was and who wasn’t.

He had seen it before when passing by people on the street—their confused expressions as they tried to make out his face, only to find it slipping away from their perception like smoke. But here, in the apartment, Emily looked at him as if nothing had changed, and Sherman nuzzled him as if he were the same Ethan who had left the apartment that fateful day.

Ethan didn’t understand the mechanism or process behind this control. It was as if his mind had created a barrier, a shield that protected him from those who might be a threat. But for Emily and Sherman, there was no need for such defenses. They weren’t a threat. They were the two beings he wanted more than anything to see him, to know him, to anchor him to the remnants of his humanity.

The realization left him both relieved and unsettled. He had this power, this ability to manipulate how others perceived him, but he didn’t fully comprehend it. It was terrifying to think about the implications, about what it meant for him and for those around him. The one person, or rather entity, he had no control over was Dr. Hargrove. Ethan knew, deep in his soul, that he could never hide from the plague doctor. Not for long, anyway. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, a reminder of the chains he had willingly placed around himself.

“I missed you, buddy,” Ethan whispered to Sherman, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry…”

Emily sat back down on the couch, her hands trembling as she reached for the wine bottle. She poured herself another glass, but her eyes never left Ethan. “What’s going on, Ethan? You’re scaring me…”

Ethan sat down beside her, his hands clasped together tightly to stop them from shaking. “Emily, there’s something I need to tell you. Something… I don’t even really understand myself.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I made a mistake. A big one. And now… now I have to deal with the consequences.”

Emily’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on the wine glass. “What do you mean? What kind of mistake? Are you talking about the man, the patient you hurt? Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Ethan hesitated, his mind racing with a thousand possible explanations. He wanted to protect her, to shield her from the truth, but he knew he couldn’t keep it all from her. She deserved to know, at least some of it.

“There’s this… man,” Ethan began, struggling to find the right words, hesitant to describe Hargrove as human. “He offered me a way out, a way to fix everything. But it’s not… it’s not what I thought it would be, Em. And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

Emily’s face paled, her eyes searching his for answers. “What are you talking about? Who is this man?”

Ethan shook his head, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. “It’s not that simple, Emily. He’s not… he’s not just a man. He’s something else. Something powerful. And now I’m stuck in this… this nightmare, and I don’t know how to wake up.”

Emily stared at him, her eyes wide with shock and fear, the effects of the alcohol further heightening her sensitivities. “Ethan… what did you do?”

Ethan opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, a cold voice cut through the air, freezing him in place. “You should be more careful with your words, Mr. Hull.”

Ethan’s blood ran cold as he turned to see Dr. Atticus Hargrove standing in the doorway, his dark figure casting a long shadow across the room. Emily let out a gasp, clutching the wine glass so tightly that it shattered in her hand, the shards falling to the floor.

“Who… who is that?” Emily whispered, her voice trembling.

Ethan’s heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping him like a vise. “Emily, stay back,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just stay back…”

Hargrove stepped into the room, his presence overwhelming, the air growing colder with each step he took. “I warned you, Mr. Hull. There are consequences for disobedience.”

Ethan felt his knees weaken, the power within him surging as if responding to the threat. But he forced himself to stay calm, to keep control. “Leave her out of this,” he said, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his insides. “This is between you and me.”

Dr. Hargrove tilted his head slightly, the mask obscuring his expression, but Ethan could sense the amusement in his voice. “Is that so? You seem to have forgotten the terms of our agreement, Mr. Hull. You belong to me now, and I will not tolerate insubordination.”

Ethan’s mind raced, desperation clawing at him. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let Emily get hurt because of him. “Please… she doesn’t know anything. She’s not involved. Just… just let her go.”

Dr. Hargrove seemed to consider this for a moment, the silence stretching out painfully. Then, with a detached finality, he spoke. “Very well. I shall spare her, for now. But you will learn, Mr. Hull, that there are prices to be paid for defiance.”

Before Ethan could react, Dr. Hargrove raised a gloved hand, and a wave of darkness swept through the room. Emily’s eyes rolled back, her body going limp as she collapsed onto the couch, unconscious. Sherman let out a low growl, but even he seemed powerless against the force emanating from the plague doctor.

Ethan rushed to Emily’s side, his heart hammering in his chest. He checked her pulse, relief flooding through him when he felt the steady beat beneath his fingers. She was alive, but whatever Dr. Hargrove had done to her, it had left her in a deep, unnatural sleep.

“What did you do to her?” Ethan demanded, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and fear.

Hargrove lowered his hand, the dark energy dissipating. “She will wake in time,” he said calmly. “But you, Mr. Hull, must now make a choice. You can continue to resist me, and your loved ones will suffer the consequences. Or, you can accept your place and carry out the tasks I have set before you. The choice is yours.”

Ethan’s fists clenched at his sides, his mind screaming at the unfairness of it all. But he knew he had no real choice. He had bound himself to Dr. Hargrove, and now the people he cared about were at risk because of him.

“Fine,” Ethan said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do what you want. Just don’t hurt her. Don’t hurt them.” Ethan cast a furtive glance in Sherman’s direction.

Dr. Hargrove inclined his head slightly, as if acknowledging a decision already made. “Good. Then we understand one another. I will return when it is time for your first task. Be ready.”

With that, the plague doctor turned and walked out of the apartment, his figure disappearing into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. The door closed silently behind him, leaving Ethan standing in the middle of the room, his heart heavy with despair.

He looked down at Emily, her face peaceful in sleep, and then at Sherman, who had curled up beside her. Ethan knelt beside them, his head in his hands, and wept.

He was free from the cell and the confines of his old life, but he was far from liberated. His deal with Hargrove bound him tighter than any prison bars ever could. And now, with the lives of those he cared about hanging in the balance, he knew he could never escape.

Ethan sat there in the silence of the apartment, considering the cost of Hargrove’s so-called “freedom.” His humanity, his very soul, the fate of his loved ones – everything was now in the hands of a dark force that demanded obedience and offered only pain in return.

As the minutes turned to hours, Ethan remained there, watching over Emily and Sherman, knowing that when the time came, he would have to rise and face the darkness he had invited into his life.

There was no other choice.

Not anymore.

Chapter 6

The hours bled together as Ethan sat in the dimly lit apartment. Emily lay on the couch, still unconscious, her breathing steady but unnaturally slow. Sherman had curled up at her feet, his eyes watchful, his instincts telling him that something was terribly wrong.

Ethan’s mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, guilt, anger—all swirling together in a chaotic storm that left him feeling helpless. Dr. Hargrove had made it clear that there was no escape, no way out of the dark bargain Ethan had struck. And now, the lives of the people he cared about most were in the balance.

He stood up slowly, careful not to disturb Emily or Sherman. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as his thoughts spiraled. He knew that Hargrove would return soon, and that when he did, Ethan would have to carry out whatever twisted assignment the plague doctor had in mind. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, but he knew there was no other option. Not if he wanted to protect Emily and Sherman.

Ethan walked to the window, staring out at the city below. The lights of Minneapolis twinkled in the distance, the world outside continuing as if nothing had changed. But for Ethan, everything had. He was no longer just a man—he was something else now, something dangerous, and the power that surged within him was both a blessing and a curse.

As he stood there, lost in thought, he heard a soft sound behind him. He turned to see Emily stirring on the couch, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly regained consciousness. Relief flooded through him, but it was quickly tempered by the knowledge of what was to come.

“Emily?” Ethan said softly, moving to her side. “Em, are you okay?”

She opened her eyes, blinking in the dim light. For a moment, she seemed disoriented, her gaze unfocused. But then her eyes found Ethan’s, and a flicker of recognition crossed her face.

“Ethan… what happened? I feel so… strange,” she murmured, her voice weak.

Ethan knelt beside her, taking her hand in his. “It’s okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re safe now. Just rest.”

Emily’s brow furrowed, her eyes searching his face. “I remember… there was someone here. That man… who was he?”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. He had hoped she wouldn’t remember Hargrove, but it seemed that whatever the plague doctor had done to her, it hadn’t erased the memory entirely. “It doesn’t matter now, Em,” Ethan said quickly. “He’s gone. Just focus on getting better.”

Emily nodded slowly, but there was still a shadow of fear in her eyes. “Ethan… what’s happening? I don’t understand any of this.”

Ethan squeezed her hand, guilt gnawing at him. He wished he could tell her everything, explain the nightmare he had become entangled in. But how could he make her understand? How could he tell her that he had made a deal with a demonic entity, that he was now bound to carry out its will? The truth was too horrific, too unbelievable.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” Ethan lied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

But even as he said the words, he knew they were empty. There was no way to undo the deal he had made, no way to escape the dark path he was on. And soon, Dr. Hargrove would return, demanding Ethan fulfill his end of the bargain.

Ethan helped Emily sit up, guiding her to the kitchen where she could sip some water and regain her strength. Sherman followed closely, his loyal eyes never leaving his master. Ethan couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt as he watched them—his fiancée and his dog, both oblivious to the danger that loomed over them because of him.

They sat in silence, the weight of unspoken fears hanging in the air. Emily sipped her water, her hands still trembling slightly, while Ethan’s mind raced. He knew he had to be ready, but the thought of what Hargrove might ask him to do filled him with dread.

Then, as if summoned by his thoughts, the temperature of the air in the apartment plummeted. The lights flickered, and Ethan felt a familiar chill run down his spine. He knew without turning around that Dr. Hargrove had returned.

“Mr. Hull,” Hargrove’s voice echoed through the room, cold and commanding. “The time has come.”

Ethan stood up slowly, his heart pounding in his chest. He turned to face the doctor, who stood in the shadows by the door, looming like a specter of death.

Emily gasped, clutching the edge of the counter. “Ethan, no… please, don’t go with him…”

Ethan’s heart broke at the fear in her voice, but he knew he had no choice. “I have to, Emily,” he said softly, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I have to do this.”

Dr. Hargrove stepped forward, tapping his wrist impatiently, as if alluding to a nonexistent watch. “Do not keep me waiting, Mr. Hull,” he said, his voice dripping with menace.

Ethan nodded, swallowing hard as he steeled himself. He had made his decision, and now he had to live with it. He glanced back at Emily one last time, his heart aching with regret. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, before turning to follow Dr. Hargrove out of the apartment.

The door closed behind them, leaving Emily and Sherman alone in the silent, darkened apartment. Ethan felt the cold air of the night wrap around him as he stepped outside, but the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the fear that gripped his heart.

Hargrove led him down the street, the two of them moving through the shadows like wraiths. Ethan didn’t ask where they were going or what the task would be—he knew better than to question the plague doctor. He had made his choice, and now he had to face the consequences.

They walked in silence, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind through the trees. Ethan could feel the power inside him, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be unleashed. But he also felt the weight of the darkness that came with it, the knowledge that his newfound abilities were not his own.

Finally, they reached their destination—a secluded, abandoned building on the outskirts of the city. The windows were boarded up, the walls covered in graffiti, and the air was thick with the stench of decay. Ethan felt a sense of foreboding as they approached, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“This is the place,” Dr. Hargrove said, his voice low and ominous. “Inside, you will find a man. He is marked, Mr. Hull. Marked for damnation. You know what must be done.”

Ethan’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat. “What… what did he do?”

Dr. Hargrove’s eyes, hidden behind the mask, seemed to bore into Ethan’s soul. “That is not your concern. He is marked, and that is all you need to know. Now, fulfill your duty.”

Ethan hesitated, his mind screaming in protest. But he knew there was no way out. If he refused, if he defied Dr. Hargrove, Emily and Sherman would pay the price. He couldn’t let that happen.

Swallowing his fear, Ethan nodded and approached the building. The door creaked open as he pushed it, the darkness inside swallowing him whole. The smell of rot and mildew assaulted his enhanced senses.

As he stepped inside, Ethan’s heart raced. The energy within him surged, guiding him, pulling him deeper into the building. He knew he would find the man, the one thus identified, the one Dr. Hargrove had condemned.

He reached a small, dimly lit room at the end of a narrow hallway. The man was there, as promised, slumped in a corner. Ethan could see it now—the mark of damnation, a dark aura that clung to the man like a shroud. The power within Ethan urged him to act, to carry out the duty he had been assigned.

The man looked up as Ethan approached, his eyes filled with terror. “Who… who are you? What do you want?” he stammered, his voice trembling.

Ethan stopped a few feet away, his expression cold and detached. “I’m here to deliver your soul,” he said bluntly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Because of what you’ve done, I’ve been tasked with sending you to hell.”

The man’s eyes widened in horror, and he began to shake his head frantically. “No… no, please! You’ve got the wrong person! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Please, just let me go!” he begged, his voice cracking with desperation.

Ethan could feel the man’s fear, his panic, but it did nothing to sway him. The task was clear, and he had no choice but to fulfill it. “I’m sorry,” Ethan said, though his tone remained flat. “Your fate is sealed and not up to me. I have a job to do.”

The man collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face. “I’m sorry! I regret everything I’ve done! Please, please don’t kill me… I’ll make it right, I swear! Just give me a chance!”

Ethan’s heart clenched at the man’s pleas, but he knew it was too late. The dark force that now dictated his purpose flooded him with a cold determination. This man was marked, and no amount of begging or regret could change that.

“It’s too late for that now,” Ethan said, his voice icy and resolute. “My employer, I’m afraid, is not the forgiving type.”

The man’s sobs filled the small room, his body trembling as he clung to the last threads of hope. But Ethan could see the truth in the man’s eyes—he knew there was no escape. The mark of damnation was clear, his efforts to escape judgment futile.

Ethan stepped closer, ready to carry out his grim task, and extended his hand. The man looked up at him one last time, his eyes brimming with a mixture of terror and despair. “Please… don’t do this…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Ethan hesitated for a brief moment, but then he steeled himself, pushing aside the remnants of his humanity still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. He had no choice. He was bound by the deal he had made, and now he had to see it through.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispered, the words barely escaping his lips.

The room seemed to darken as Ethan closed the distance between himself and the man. A chill spread through the room as the inevitable moment arrived.

The man’s final, desperate scream was cut short as Ethan’s hand made contact. The dark power surged from Ethan’s fingertips, enveloping the man in a suffocating, frigid grip. The man’s body stiffened, his eyes widening in shock and agony as the life was drained from him. Within moments, the mark of damnation flared to life, consuming the man’s soul.

Ethan watched, numb, as the man’s body crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The room was silent now, the darkness retreating as soon as the task was completed. The energy within Ethan receded as well, leaving him feeling barren, suddenly cognizant of his actions and their repercussions.

He stood there for a moment, staring down at the man he had just executed. He had taken a life—no, more than that, he had delivered a soul to a realm of eternal suffering. The finality of it all was crushing, and Ethan could feel the last vestiges of his old self slipping away, replaced by the unfeeling, ruthless enforcer he was becoming.

Outside, Hargrove waited. Ethan emerged from the building, his expression blank, his movements mechanical. The doctor regarded him with a calculating gaze, the faintest hint of satisfaction in his voice as he spoke.

“Well done, Mr. Hull,” Dr. Hargrove said, his tone devoid of warmth. “You have completed your first task. You are beginning to understand your role, and what is required of you.”

Ethan didn’t respond, his mind still reeling from what he had just done. In the distance, the city lights flickered. Under ordinary circumstances, Ethan would have found the beauty in them, but no longer. Tonight, he felt hollow. In spite of the incredible abilities he had been endowed with, everything had lost its luster, and there was no going back.

Dr. Hargrove turned, his cloak billowing in the night air as he began to walk away. “Come, Mr. Hull,” he called over his shoulder. “There is much more work to be done.”

Ethan trailed behind, his footsteps heavy, praying to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in, for salvation he was all but certain he no longer deserved.

Chapter 7

The passage of time had become meaningless to Ethan. Days bled into weeks, and weeks into months, as he carried out Dr. Hargrove’s orders with increasing detachment. The once vibrant city of Minneapolis was now a blur of gray buildings and faceless crowds, its streets filled with people who moved like shadows, unaware of the darkness that lurked among them.

Ethan had become efficient in his work. The first few souls he harvested had shaken him to his core, but as the tasks multiplied, as the souls piled up, the horror of it all began to dull. It was a necessary evil, or so he told himself. Even so, each time he delivered a soul to its damnation, he felt another piece of his own slip away, lost to the abyss that had become his life.

He no longer questioned Hargrove’s orders. The plague doctor’s shadow loomed over him, an ever-present reminder of the pact that bound him. Ethan’s body moved on autopilot now, his mind numb to the terror and the pleading of those he was sent to collect. The faces of the damned blurred together, their voices indistinguishable in his memories.

There was the businessman, a sharp-suited figure who had once commanded power and respect, now reduced to a trembling wreck as Ethan cornered him in his penthouse office. The man had offered bribes, promises of wealth and influence, but Ethan’s hand had been steady, his resolve unshaken as he delivered yet another sinner to their final destination.

Then there was the young woman, barely out of her teens, whose crimes were etched in her eyes, a shadow of guilt following her every step. She had wept, begged for forgiveness that Ethan could not provide, her cries echoing in the empty alley where he had found her. Ethan felt a pang in his once-human heart as he extinguished her hope, but his hand had remained firm, compelled as he was to finish the job.

And there was the old man, frail, sick, and bitter, whose time had long since passed. He acknowledged Ethan with a sarcastic smile, as if he knew the day would come. There had been no struggle, no pleas for mercy, only a stubborn insistence that he had been the victim throughout his life, that his sins were not his fault and that he was the universe’s whipping boy.

Each soul was a reminder of what Ethan had become. The repetition had numbed him to a great degree, and yet, guilt and revulsion remained, ever-present, eroding what was left of his conscience — but its impact was akin to that of a distant echo, something he could push aside as he moved from one victim to the next.

His thoughts often drifted back to Emily during these times of detachment. He remembered the warmth of her embrace, the way her eyes had sparkled when she laughed, the softness of her voice as she whispered his name. But those memories were fading as the distance between them grew, replaced by the brutal reality of the life he now led. He had no idea when he would see her or his beloved dog Sherman again, or if he ever would.

All the while, Dr. Hargrove watched over him with an inscrutable, calculating gaze, guiding Ethan farther and farther from the empathy that once defined him. His otherworldly benefactor never praised, never scolded. He simply observed, ensuring that Ethan remained on the course set before him. The few times Ethan had dared to question his orders, to ask why particular souls were marked, why they deserved damnation, Hargrove’s response had been the same—indifference, a simple reminder of the pact they had made.

“There is no need for you to understand, Mr. Hull,” Hargrove had said. “Your obligation is to carry out my wishes, nothing more.”

And so Ethan had complied. He swept through the city like a phantom, his presence unnoticed by those around him, his face blurred to anyone who might perceive him as a threat.

But even as Ethan’s mind faltered, a small part of him remained aware, a flicker of the man he had once been. It was this part of him that kept the memories of Emily alive, that refused to let go of the shame and the heartbreak that had led him here. It was this part of him that began to resist, quietly, almost imperceptibly at first, but with growing fervor.

Each time he harvested a soul, Ethan felt that defiance grow. It was a slow, painful process, like a wound that refused to heal, but it was there, persistent, a reminder that at one point he had been more than this, been a man with free will, autonomy, and a purpose in life aside from death and destruction.

As time passed and the tasks continued, Ethan found himself at a crossroads. The toll of repetition had hardened him, dulled the edges of his humanity, but it had also awakened something within him. A desire for redemption, for an end to his insidious vocation.

But that end seemed far off, a distant hope that Ethan couldn’t quite grasp. For now, he was trapped, bound by the pact he had made, and the only way forward was to harvest the souls that Dr. Hargrove demanded.

Yet, deep inside, Ethan knew. Something had to change. The man he had been, the man he still was beneath the surface, wouldn’t allow him to continue along this path forever. He was headed toward a breaking point; it was only a matter of time.

Chapter 8

Ethan moved through the city, completing his assignments with increasingly mechanical precision, but something had changed. He could feel it just beneath the surface—the detachment that had initially shielded him from the horror of his actions was beginning to crumble. And at times, he wondered if Dr. Hargrove, too, could detect the hints of his burgeoning insolence.

It began with a man who met Ethan’s cold gaze with tears of regret, not fear. The man, grizzled and worn from a life of sin, didn’t run or beg for his life. Instead, he fell to his knees and clasped his hands together, whispering a prayer.

“I know what I’ve done,” the man said, his voice thick with remorse. “I’ve hurt people… ruined lives. But I’m sorry, truly. I don’t expect forgiveness, but I need to say it—I’m sorry.”

Ethan stood over him, the power within him pulsing, urging him to complete the task. But something inside Ethan hesitated. He had seen fear, anger, and denial in the faces of those he’d harvested, but this was different. This was true repentance, and it stirred something deep within him—a memory, perhaps, of what it meant to be human.

“You… you think that matters?” Ethan found himself saying, his voice wavering. It was the first time he had spoken to one of his targets with anything other than indifference.

The man looked up at him, eyes filled with tears. “Maybe not to you, or to anyone else, but it matters to me. If there’s any chance, any at all, that I could be forgiven… I need to try.”

Forgiveness. The word echoed in Ethan’s mind, foreign and yet familiar. He had never been a man of faith, never one to seek redemption or believe in second chances. But something in the man’s plea resonated with him, and for a moment, Ethan wondered if it was possible. Could this man—could he—find forgiveness for the things they had done?

But as quickly as the thought entered his mind, Dr. Hargrove’s voice cut through it, as if summoned by the very act of questioning his lot in life.

“Do not be swayed by the weakness of humanity, Mr. Hull,” Dr. Hargrove’s voice reverberated in Ethan’s mind. “Forgiveness is a myth, a fairy tale spun by those who cannot face the consequences of their actions. There is no redemption, no salvation—only the path you have chosen, and the duty you must fulfill.”

Ethan clenched his fists. The man before him continued to plead, but Ethan’s heart hardened, the fleeting hope of forgiveness crushed by the weight of his pact.

“You’re wrong,” Ethan whispered, though whether he was speaking to the man or to Hargrove, he wasn’t sure. “You’re wrong, and it’s too late to change anything.”

The man’s face crumpled as Ethan reached out, latching onto his soul and pulling it from his body. The light in the man’s eyes flickered and faded, and his body slumped to the ground, lifeless. Ethan stood over him, feeling the familiar ache settle back into his bones.

But the moment haunted him. Even as he carried out his next task, and the one after that, his latest victim’s words lingered in his mind. He began to see it in the eyes of others too—remorse, repentance, a desperate plea for a chance at redemption. And each time, Ethan felt that same flicker, the same doubt.

The woman who had spent years manipulating and hurting those around had fallen to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she confessed her sins. “I know what I’ve done,” she had sobbed. “And I wish I could take it all back. Please, give me a chance to make it right.”

The man who had spent his life chasing wealth at the expense of others had stood before Ethan with trembling hands, whispering, “I was wrong. I see that now. If there’s any way to undo the damage I’ve caused, I’ll do it. Just… please, don’t let this be the end.”

Ethan felt his resolve weakening with each encounter. He began to question whether he truly had no choice, whether the agreement with Hargrove was as binding as he had been led to believe. Was forgiveness really make-believe? Or was there something more, something Hargrove didn’t want him to see?

Ethan began to suspect that Hargrove was lying to him, keeping him in the dark to maintain control. And yet, the more Ethan resisted, the stronger the doubt grew, the need to break free before the last vestiges of his humanity were smothered.

Ethan knew he would need to be careful. Hargrove was always watching, always waiting for any sign of disobedience. But Ethan was growing tired of being a puppet, of carrying out a demonic agenda he didn’t believe in, of damning souls he felt could be saved.

As he walked through the streets of Minneapolis, the city alive with the lights and sounds of an oblivious populace, Ethan felt a strange sense of calm. He was still bound by his deal with Hargrove, still trapped in a life that wasn’t his own, but now—now he had something he hadn’t felt in a long time—a purpose.

He didn’t know what the future held, or if he would even survive. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t-wouldn’t-let Hargrove control him forever.

And so, as the night stretched on and the city slept, Ethan schemed.

He would find a way to break the pact.

He would find a way to be forgiven, even if it killed him.

Chapter 9

Ethan’s footsteps echoed through the empty streets as he made his way back to the small, dilapidated apartment he now called home. His mind was a storm of thoughts and emotions, each more turbulent than the last.

The encounters with the repentant souls had shaken him to his core. Their pleas for forgiveness, their desperate hope that redemption was possible, had stirred something within him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Hope.

But with that desire came fear. Dr. Hargrove had made it clear from the beginning that there was no escape, no way out of their agreement. Or so he claimed. Ethan suspected there was more to it, and that Hargrove wasn’t telling him everything.

As Ethan reached the apartment, he paused at the door, his hand hovering over the knob. An all-too-familiar dread settled over him, but this time, it was laced with something else—anger. Anger at Hargrove for the lies and manipulation, the cruelty that had twisted his life into something unrecognizable. And anger at himself for ever making the pact in the first place. Would it have really been so bad if he had simply taken responsibility for his actions, lawyered up, and served his time? Compared to his present circumstances, a lengthy, uneventful prison sentence seemed appealing.

Ethan pushed open the door and stepped inside, the stale air instantly assaulting his senses. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the grimy windows. Ethan made his way to the small, worn-out couch and sank onto it, burying his face in his hands.

He had to do something. He couldn’t continue like this, couldn’t keep damning souls that might have a chance at redemption. But what could he do? The power that bound him to Hargrove was strong, and the consequences of defiance were terrifying. Ethan knew that if he acted against Hargrove, the plague doctor would retaliate—and, undoubtedly, those Ethan cared about most would be targeted.

But the thought of spending an eternity at the mercy of such evil influences was unbearable. Ethan’s mind raced, searching for a solution that didn’t end in disaster. Each option seemed impossible, every plan doomed to failure.

And then, in the midst of his despair, a thought occurred to him. A dangerous, desperate thought, but one that Ethan couldn’t ignore. What if he simply confronted Hargrove? What if he insisted, demanded to know why he had been chosen, and how he could end the pact?

The idea was terrifying, but it was the only one that made sense. Ethan knew that Hargrove was hiding something, that the doctor wasn’t telling him everything. And if Ethan could get the truth, maybe—just maybe—he could recover some semblance of his past life. He had to fight back, even if it meant risking everything. He wouldn’t back down, no matter what the cost.

But as he turned toward the door, preparing to leave the apartment and seek out his employer, a voice echoed in his mind, stopping him in his tracks.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Hull?”

Ethan froze, his blood turning to ice. The voice was unmistakable—Dr. Hargrove’s, as emotionless as ever. Ethan slowly turned around, his eyes scanning the shadows of the room.

And then, from the darkest corner of the apartment, Hargrove emerged. The doctor’s form seemed to materialize from the shadows themselves, his tall, imposing figure dominating the small room. His mask glinted in the faint light, the empty eyes staring directly at Ethan.

Ethan held his tongue. Hargrove had known—of course, he had. The plague doctor always knew. But Ethan wasn’t going to let that stop him. Not now.

“I want answers, Hargrove,” Ethan said, his voice steady despite his worry. “I want to know why you chose me, and how I can end this.”

Hargrove tilted his head slightly, as if considering Ethan’s words. “End this? Mr. Hull, you cannot end what has already been set in motion. You are bound to me, to the pact we made, and there is no running from that.”

Ethan took a step forward, his anger flaring. “That’s a lie, and you know it! You’ve been hiding things from me, keeping me in the dark! I deserve to know the truth!”

Hargrove was silent for a long moment, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second. Finally, he spoke, his voice colder than ever. “Very well, Mr. Hull. You want the truth? Then I will give it to you.”

Hargrove stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, the temperature dropping several degrees with each step he took. “You were selected because your fate was sealed long before you and I met. You were always destined to serve as the harbinger of hell, the one who would bring damnation to those who deserve it. Our agreement was merely a formality—a means to an end.”

Ethan reeled at the mention of the words. Harbinger. A formality. Destined. Had his involvement in this infernal plan really been inevitable? The suggestion that he had no choice in the matter, no free will, was as demoralizing as it was surprising. Surely he wasn’t perfect, but his years dedicated to serving others had to count for something…right? He was no angel, but…no, he thought. This can’t be how things work.

Before he could mount an argument, Hargrove continued.

“There is no escape from this, Mr. Hull,” Hargrove continued, his voice low and menacing. “You can resist all you like, but in the end, you will fulfill your purpose. You will harvest the souls I instruct you to, and you will bring about the vision that has been foretold.”

Ethan’s heart threatened to give out. But even as despair threatened to consume him, something inside him pushed back—a spark of defiance, a refusal to accept the fate that Hargrove had laid out for him.

“No!” Ethan said, his voice trembling but resolute. “I don’t believe that. There has to be a way out, a way to break free from you.”

Hargrove’s mask glinted in the dim light, his silence heavy with unspoken threats. “You are mistaken, Mr. Hull. There will be no absconding.  There is but one path, and you are on it, up to and until the bitter end.”

Ethan shook his head. “I didn’t choose this! You forced me into it. But I’m not going to let you control me anymore!”

Hargrove’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Be careful, Mr. Hull. Noncompliance has its consequences.”

Ethan felt a chill run down his spine, but he didn’t back down. “I don’t care about your threats! I want out of this pact, and I’m going to find a way to break it, whether you like it or not!”

The room became unnervingly quiet, the tension so dense it seemed to hang in the air. Ethan braced himself, expecting Hargrove to lash out, to punish him for his defiance.

But instead, Hargrove simply stepped back into the shadows, his form disappearing into the darkness. “You may try, Mr. Hull,” his disembodied voice filled the air, “but you will find that breaking the pact is far more difficult—and costly—than you can imagine.”

And with that, Hargrove was gone, leaving Ethan alone.

Ethan stood, paralyzed, for what seemed like an eternity, his mind aflame with a barrage of conflicting thoughts. Hargrove’s words echoed in his mind, but Ethan refused to let them take root. He couldn’t give in to the despair, the hopelessness that the plague doctor had tried to instill in him.

There had to be a way out. He didn’t know what it was, or how he would find it, but he knew one thing—he wasn’t going to let Hargrove win.

Ethan took a deep breath, He would find a way to break the pact. He would reclaim his humanity. And he would bring down Dr. Hargrove, no matter what the cost.

But as Ethan sat back down on the couch, his mind still reeling from the confrontation, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Hargrove’s parting words were more than just a threat.

Breaking the pact would be difficult—and costly. Ethan knew that whatever price he would have to pay, it would be steep—but it didn’t matter, not any anymore.

The breaking point had come.

Chapter 10

Ethan had crossed a line, and there was no going back. However, he still felt the compulsion to complete his tasks, and for the time being, had no choice but to acquiesce to the doctor’s will. He had made up his mind, but the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

The confrontation with Dr. Hargrove had solidified his resolve, but with it came a terrifying transformation, as if he had been endowed with a parting gift from his ghastly benefactor, tempting him with the promise of more, so much more. Ethan’s powers, once subtle and subdued, were now growing at an alarming rate, and Ethan wasn’t the only one that realized it. The world around him had started to take notice.

The news channels were abuzz with reports of a mysterious figure—an enigma who appeared in the darkest corners of the city, evading capture with a skill that bordered on the supernatural. Witnesses described a man with a blurred face, his features impossible to discern. He was untouchable, an omnipresent ghost who could not be caught on film.

It wasn’t long before Ethan began to exploit this growing notoriety. He had become something more than just a man—he was now a symbol, bending the will of those around him, spoken of in hushed tones in households across Minneapolis. With each soul he harvested, his reputation grew, and with it, the fear that gripped the city.

As if on schedule, Ethan began to make public appearances, carefully orchestrated events that were as much about asserting his control as they were about taunting those who would try to stop him. He appeared on television, his face blurred and his voice distorted, speaking in riddles that unnerved all who listened.

Law enforcement officials scrambled to make sense of it all, their attempts to capture him growing increasingly desperate. Ethan, though they couldn’t identify him and didn’t know his name, was the primary suspect in a rash of brutal murders, and the public outcry, including demands to capture and try him, grew daily. But Ethan was always one step ahead, his powers allowing him to slip through their fingers time and time again.

Worse yet, Ethan wasn’t alone. By his side, like twisted shadows of his former self, stood his demonic henchmen—the reincarnated souls of those he had previously harvested. They were bound to him now, their once-human forms twisted into grotesque caricatures of what they had once been. Their eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, and they moved with a terrifying grace, their loyalty to Ethan absolute.

These disciples became Ethan’s enforcers, carrying out his will with a brutality that shocked even him. They were extensions of his corrupted personality, and through them, Ethan’s influence spread like a cancer, tainting everything it touched. To the public, the city was his playground, he was impervious—and he answered to no one.

The world watched in horror as Ethan’s reign of terror grew. Governments around the globe began to take an interest, their leaders issuing statements condemning his actions, though they were powerless to stop him. The media dubbed him the Antichrist, a moniker that only fueled the distress and havoc that Ethan had unleashed. His actions, unimpeded, inspired cults and spawned religions, spurring citizens to take sides in what they were certain was a looming apocalypse.

But for Ethan, the title was meaningless. He didn’t care about the labels, the headlines, or the fear. All that mattered to him now was the mission—to break free from the pact and destroy Dr. Hargrove. The public’s perception of him was just another tool, another weapon in his arsenal. Though it didn’t seem like it, what he truly wanted was to reclaim the humanity that had been stripped away from him.

Despite the growing chaos, Ethan remained focused on his goal. He spent every waking moment searching for a way to sever the ties that bound him to Hargrove, delving into ancient texts and forgotten rituals, seeking any clue that might lead him to freedom. His public appearances were calculated distractions, designed to keep Hargrove off his trail while he toiled in secret.

But with each passing day, the weight of Ethan’s actions became more suffocating. The souls he had harvested, the lives he had destroyed, they haunted him in ways that he couldn’t have fathomed. Over time, in the face of his increasingly wanton depravity, the flame of resistance within him, which had once burned so brightly, began to flicker. He was running out of time.

And then there was Emily. Every now and then his thoughts drifted to his fiancée, to the life he had left behind. The memory of her kept Ethan grounded, even as his powers threatened to overwhelm him. He had kept her at a distance, trying to protect her from the fallout of his decisions, but deep down, he knew that she was in more danger now than ever before. Hargrove’s threats loomed large in his mind, and Ethan suspected the doctor was simply waiting for the right moment to strike.

Ethan’s lackeys, though loyal, offered little reassurance. Rather, their presence was a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made, and of the suffering he has caused. Ethan worried—knew—that he was losing himself, yet again, and this time, to an even greater degree. The line between who he was and what he had become was growing thinner by the day, and Ethan didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

The turning point came during one of his public appearances. Ethan had chosen a large, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city as the setting for his latest demonstration. The media had been tipped off, and the place was swarming with reporters, their cameras trained on the figure who had become the very mouthpiece of Hell.

Ethan stood on a makeshift stage, his henchmen flanking him, their eyes glowing with the same supernatural energy that coursed through him. He could feel the eyes of the world on him, their collective fear feeding the power within him. He raised his hands, signaling for silence, and the crowd fell quiet, waiting for him to speak.

But before Ethan could utter a word, a sudden, searing pain shot through his chest. He gasped, doubling over, his vision blurring. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Ethan collapsed to his knees, the twisted forms of his disciples moving to support him.

For a moment, Ethan was lost in the torment, his mind a whirlwind of agony and confusion. But then, as suddenly as it had started, the sting subsided, leaving Ethan gasping for breath.

He knew what had happened—Hargrove was watching. The plague doctor had sensed Ethan’s defiance and had lashed out, punishing him for his infractions. It was a reprimand, a message that Hargrove was still in control, no matter how much power Ethan had amassed.

Ethan struggled to his feet, reeling from the aftershocks, his breath ragged. The crowd was still watching, fearful and bewildered, but Ethan didn’t care. All he could think about was Emily. Hargrove’s warning had been clear—if Ethan continued on this path, the plague doctor would retaliate, and the people Ethan cared about would be the ones to suffer. And if Hargrove’s attacks were enough to bring him to his knees, what with his abilities, what chance did others have?

Ethan realized then he had to move quickly, and find a way to end Hargrove’s hold on him, before it was too late. But deep down, Ethan knew there would be consequences, repercussions that nothing and no one could prepare him for.

As Ethan stepped down from the stage, his followers close behind, he steeled himself. He had to keep going, had to fight back, even if it meant losing everything.  He only hoped he could handle the inevitable moment when it arrived.

The crowd parted as Ethan took his leave, their fear palpable, but Ethan barely noticed. His mind was already on the next step, the next move in the game that Hargrove had forced him to play.

And as the night closed in around him, Ethan breathed deeply, savoring the last vestiges of his fleeting humanity. Whatever was going to happen next, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

Chapter 11

Ethan’s pulse quickened as he moved through the darkened streets of Minneapolis, his thoughts plagued by the warning he had received. Hargrove’s retaliatory strike had been a painful reminder of the doctor’s power, and the threat he posed to those Ethan loved. The meaning had been clear: do as he was told, or the outcome would be dire.

But Ethan had come too far to turn back now. He had tasted the power of salvation, however briefly it lasted. The stakes were too high.

The city around him was a blur as Ethan made his way back to his old apartment. He ruminated on his plans, each more desperate than the last. He knew that time was short, that Dr. Hargrove would not tolerate his insubordination much longer. And he worried for Emily and Sherman. The thought of Hargrove targeting them to punish him was intolerable, and he had to know whether they were safe or not.

When Ethan finally reached Emily’s apartment, he found himself hesitating at the threshold. Was he truly prepared for what he might find on the other side of the door? For a moment, he considered turning back and walking away from it all. At least Emily would be safe then…or would she? If Hargrove’s plan succeeded, he could spare Emily for the time being, only to condemn her and everyone else to a dystopian nightmare. And what then? No, Ethan thought. He couldn’t abandon Emily to such a fate. And yet, it felt like no matter what he did, no one was escaping unscathed.

With a deep breath, Ethan opened the door and left it ajar behind him. The apartment was unnaturally still—too quiet—and he felt a chill run down his spine. Something was wrong.

“Emily?” Ethan called out, his voice echoing in the sparsely furnished space. There was no response.

Just then, the soft padding of paws on the floor caught Ethan’s attention. Sherman appeared from the hallway, his golden fur tousled and his eyes wide with anxiety. Ethan knelt down as the dog rushed to him, whining and circling him anxiously.

“Hey, boy… what’s wrong?” Ethan asked, ruffling the fur behind Sherman’s ears.

The dog nudged his leg insistently, his tail low, ears pinned back. Ethan’s stomach churned. Sherman was never this skittish.

“Where’s Emily?” Ethan whispered, though part of him already knew the answer.

Sherman whined again, and Ethan rose to his feet, tension tightening in his chest. He moved through the apartment with Sherman trailing close behind, the dog’s soft whimpers adding to the eerie silence. When Ethan reached the bedroom, he froze.

Emily was lying on the bed, her face pale, her eyes closed. For a brief, terrifying moment, Ethan imagined she was dead. He rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he checked for a pulse. Relief washed over him when he felt the faint thrum beneath his fingertips.

But something wasn’t right. Emily’s breathing was shallow, her body limp, as if she were in a deep sleep. Alarmed, Ethan tried to make sense of what he was seeing. And then the realization hit him.

Hargove. 

Sherman whimpered, pressing close to Ethan’s leg, as if sensing the danger.

Ethan stood up, furious, his fists clenched. The plague doctor had struck, just as he had feared. Torturing Ethan wasn’t enough to dissuade him, so Hargrove had upped the ante. The thought filled him with a rage unlike anything he had ever felt before.

But even as the anger threatened to override his logic, Ethan knew he had to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to lose control, not when Emily’s life hung in the balance.

Ethan moved to the window and paced. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Hargrove was watching, waiting for him to make a move, and Ethan knew that the next step would be crucial. Above all else, he had to find a way to protect Emily.

But before Ethan could take another step, the temperature in the room plunged. Ethan turned and saw Dr. Hargrove standing in the doorway, his form as dark and imposing as ever. His heart sank.

“Mr. Hull,” Hargrove said, “I warned you of the consequences of disse—”

“Enough!” Ethan spat, cutting him off. Ethan had heard enough. “You leave her out of this, Hargrove! This is between you and me!”

Sherman growled low in his throat, standing between Ethan and Hargrove, his teeth bared in an aggressive snarl.

“Sherman, no!” Ethan shouted, reaching for the dog, but Sherman stood his ground, growling louder.

Hargrove tilted his head slightly. “Loyal to the end, isn’t he?” The plague doctor’s voice dripped with mockery. “But your pet has no place in this.”

With a flick of his wrist, Hargrove sent a pulse of dark energy toward Sherman. It struck the dog like a wave, lifting him off his feet and flinging him through the open doorway. Sherman let out a pained yelp as his body hit the hallway floor, skidding across the tiles.

The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening bang.

“No!” Ethan shouted, rushing to the door and pounding on it, but the latch wouldn’t budge. He threw his weight against it, but it was sealed tight.

From behind him, Hargrove’s voice oozed with satisfaction. “Now, where were we?”

Ethan’s heart raced, grief and rage colliding inside him. He slammed his fists against the door one last time, but it remained stubbornly shut. Sherman’s whines faded as the dog scrambled to his feet outside the apartment, then—silence. The retriever was gone.

Breathing heavily, Ethan turned to face Hargrove. “What have you done?!”

Hargrove’s dark eyes gleamed beneath his mask. “Consider it a lesson. A warning of what happens when you refuse to play your part,” the doctor said, his eyes gleaming with malice. “This is about more than just you. You have chosen to defy me, repeatedly, and have repaid my mercy with recalcitrance. I dare say my patience has worn thin. And I’m afraid that as a result, Mr. Hull, those you care about must now bear the cost.”

Hargrove turned his attention to Emily. “Considering the severity of your rebellion, and in order to ensure this doesn’t happen again, I do believe some additional… discipline is necessary.”

“Please,” Ethan pleaded, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation. “Don’t hurt her. I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t hurt her.”

Hargrove took a step closer. “It’s too late for that, Mr. Hull. Your bed, as your kind sometimes puts it, has already been made.”

Before Ethan could react, Hargrove raised his hand, and a wave of energy coursed through the room, slamming into Ethan with the force of a freight train. Ethan was thrust against the far wall, the air driven from his lungs. He struggled to get to his feet, pain radiating through his body. His vision swam as he attempted to focus. But even as he fought to stand, he could feel the weight of Hargrove’s authority crushing him, indomitable.

“Emily!” Ethan shouted, his voice hoarse, but she didn’t stir. Hargrove moved toward her, his palm outstretched, and Ethan’s heart seized with anxiety.

“No!” Ethan cried out, pushing himself to his feet, but it was too late. Hargrove’s hand hovered over Emily, and with a simple gesture, he took his revenge.

Emily’s body convulsed, her eyes snapping open as she gasped for air. Ethan rushed to her side, his hands trembling as he reached for her, but before he could touch her, she collapsed back onto the bed, her body limp and lifeless.

“No… no…” Ethan whispered, his voice breaking as he fell to his knees beside the bed. He clutched her hand, and discovered her skin had already grown cold. He tried to meet her gaze, only to find her eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

Ethan’s lips quivered. It had all happened so quickly, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Emily was gone.

A strangled cry tore from Ethan’s throat as the reality of it all hit him. He had failed. He had defied Hargrove, and Emily had paid the ultimate price.

But even as the grief threatened to devour him, rage rose to the forefront of his mind. An all-consuming, unrepentant fury, the likes of which the plague doctor hadn’t seen in ages.

Ethan shuddered. Hargrove had stripped him of anything that had value—his life, his dignity, and now the only person who had ever truly mattered. And for what? To prove a point?

Beneath all of Ethan’s outward emotions, a single thought, directed toward his antagonist, burned in his mind: You’ll pay for this. 

Ethan turned to face Hargrove, his eyes blazing with unbridled ferocity. “You’ve taken everything from me,” he said, seething, “and before this is over, I’ll take everything from you, too.”

Hargrove remained silent, his mask hiding any hint of emotion.

“This isn’t over!” Ethan spat, his words brimming with venom. “You’ll regret this. You’ll see.”

With that, Ethan stormed out of the apartment, leaving behind the body of the woman he loved, and disappeared into the night.

Chapter 12

Ethan approached the old cathedral, its stone facade looming like a sentinel guarding the gates of hell. The building had been abandoned for decades, its presence more a curiosity than a landmark. But tonight, it was the epicenter of something far more sinister: it was Dr. Hargrove’s location of choice for a ritual intended to conjure a portal and pull back the veil, in order to unleash hell on Earth. Literally.

Ethan knew the plan had to be foiled. But what haunted him, more than the thought of what might happen if he failed, was the knowledge that Hargrove had also chosen him specifically to bring his infernal scheme to fruition—and, more disturbingly, that all of it seemed dependent on him.

From what he could tell, Hargrove had no backup plan should anything go awry. He had been preparing Ethan for his role in the ritual for weeks and, in his arrogance, imagined no understudy was required. Ethan, for his part, planned to take advantage of the doctor’s shortcomings, for whatever they were worth.

Unbeknownst to Hargrove – or at least Hargrove gave no indication he was aware – Ethan had been planning a ritual of his own, intended to counter the doctor’s. He didn’t know for certain if he had the strength to see things through or if his efforts would be effective, but he owed it to everyone he cared about to try.

Before heading to the church, Ethan had patrolled the nearby streets, calling out for Sherman until his throat was raw. But there had been no sign of his canine companion, and though he wished for the best, he imagined the worst. He hoped Sherman found someplace dry and safe, away from all of the madness unfolding.

With a sinking heart, he begrudgingly gave up the search for his dog and made his way to the cathedral.

As Ethan arrived at the threshold of the sanctuary, he found his mind replaying the fateful moment when Hargrove had first unveiled his nefarious intentions:

Ethan had been pacing the hallway of his apartment when Dr. Hargrove had appeared yet again. The demon’s beak-like nose reminded him of a vulture inspecting its prey. Ethan had froze mid-step, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of the doctor.

“Hello, Mr. Hull,” Hargrove had said. “I’ve been meaning to discuss our plans. Your part in them, to be exact.”

“Plans?” Ethan scoffed. “You mean how I’m just a pawn in your scheme?”

The corners of Hargrove’s mask seemed to tilt, as if he were intrigued. “Ah, you still underestimate your significance. A pity. No, Ethan—you’re not just some expendable piece on a chessboard. You are the centerpiece.”

Ethan’s stomach churned, but he kept his expression blank. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And why me? What have I done to deserve this?”

“Mr. Hull, whether you realize it or not, you’re special.” Hargrove began pacing. “Every step you’ve taken—every life you’ve harvested—was meticulously designed to prepare your body and spirit for what lies ahead. You’ve collected enough sin, so to speak, to open the portal yourself.”

Ethan furrowed his brow. “The portal?”

“Yes,” Hargrove confirmed. “Think of it as a door. And that door will be the gateway through which we introduce this world to its fated demise.” He gestured to Ethan. “You are the ideal vessel. At the appropriate moment, you will stand at the threshold between life and oblivion, as the one capable of releasing that power—or, should you choose foolishly—sealing off the portal forever.”

Ethan’s interest was piqued. “So you’re saying… I could stop it? What if I decide I want nothing to do with this anymore, and don’t participate?”

Hargrove froze and turned to face Ethan fully.

“In theory, you could act as a saboteur,” Hargrove replied. “But non-participation isn’t an option, my boy. The alignment occurs just once. Either you open the portal—or you ensure it stays closed forever. Ultimately, there’s nothing you can do that will not in some way further my agenda. No matter what, you will play your role.”

“The hell I will!” Ethan shouted. “I refuse! I won’t be a party to this game of yours anymore! I will not be responsible for whatever it is you’ve planned!”

Hargrove’s reply was grim. “There is no ‘refusal,’ Mr. Hull. If you don’t show up, the ceremony will fail, but you—” Hargrove leaned closer, whispering. “You’ll still die. Alone, in agony, knowing you forfeit the only opportunity you had to put an end to your servitude. And no matter what you do, it won’t bring your precious Emily back, nor will it stop me from achieving my goals.”

With that, Hargrove disappeared, leaving Ethan with far more questions than answers.

* * * * * *

At the church, Ethan did his best to shake off the memory of Hargrove’s cryptic parting words, and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. The cathedral’s heavy wooden doors creaked as Ethan pushed them open. Inside, the air was thick with dust, and the stained glass windows cast faint, distorted patterns on the stone floor.

Ethan moved to the center of the structure, passing row after row of long-abandoned pews. He did his best to stay calm, though every instinct he had told him to run. The ritual he had prepared outside of Hargrove’s purview was his only hope—a final attempt to sever the ties that bound him to Hargrove and close the portal before it could fully open. He had no idea what would happen if it stayed closed, but of the options he had, preventing an immediate apocalypse seemed the lesser of two evils.

Ethan stood alone near the altar and took a deep breath as he prepared to begin his own ritual. He had arrived before Hargrove, though he was certain his activities would garner the doctor’s attention, if they hadn’t already. He had to move quickly.

Just as Ethan opened his mouth to utter the first of several incantations, he heard the faint sound of footsteps echoing through the cathedral.

No, Ethan thought. Not yet!

His body tensed, his mind racing as fear gripped him, anticipating Hargrove’s arrival. But as the footsteps drew closer, that fear gave way to a flicker of hope. It wasn’t the sound of human – or demonic – footsteps he heard, but the all-too-familiar patter of paws.

Ethan gasped in relief and smiled, despite the situation, as Sherman emerged from the shadows, his golden fur a welcome sight under the circumstances.

“Sherman!” Ethan cried, his voice breaking with emotion. “Is it really you? How did you find me?”

The dog approached, his tail wagging, but there was a tension in his movements, a wariness in his eyes. Sherman nuzzled Ethan’s hand, whimpered softly, and gave his master a knowing look.

“I know, boy. I know,” Ethan said, mustering a half-hearted smile. “This is so much worse than the vet.”

Ethan wanted to hold Sherman close, to protect him, but he knew that Sherman had followed him here out of loyalty, and that allegiance now put them both in grave danger, and had cost him valuable time. He needed to resume the incantations, and soon.

But Before Ethan could act, the temperature in the cathedral dropped sharply, the air rippling with unseen energy. Ethan’s heart sank as he realized that Sherman’s arrival had not only delayed his counter-ritual but had also drawn Hargrove’s attention. He was out of time.

A mocking, disembodied laugh echoed through the cathedral, sending shivers down Ethan’s spine. “So, you brought your dog to witness your failure, Mr. Hull? How quaint.”

Ethan turned, and there, emerging from the shadows, was Dr. Hargrove, his tall, imposing figure more menacing than ever.

Ethan’s fear for Sherman surged, but he forced himself to stay focused. He had come too far to let Hargrove win. “This ends tonight!” Ethan shouted.

Hargrove chuckled, his usually emotionless voice now uncharacteristically filled with cruel amusement. “Oh, Mr. Hull, you are far too late to try and stop me now. The door is already opening. Your fate—and the fate of this world—was sealed the moment you made the pact.”

With a sweeping gesture, Hargrove raised his hands, and the air around them crackled. The very fabric of reality seemed to twist and warp as the portal began to take shape, a powerful,  swirling vortex of darkness at the heart of the church. Without Hargrove having uttered so much as a word, the gateway tugged at Ethan, threatening to tear him apart.

Instinctively, Sherman let out a low, menacing growl, positioning himself between Ethan and Hargrove. The normally docile retriever bared his teeth in a display of ferocity that took even Ethan by surprise.

“Sherman, no!” Ethan rasped, torn between admiration and fear. His protective instincts demanded he pull his companion back, but he knew that Sherman wouldn’t back down. Not now, not anymore. The dog was determined to protect his master, no matter the cost.

Hargrove sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. “You think your dog can save you, Mr. Hull? How pathetic.”

Ethan, rather than back down, took Hargrove’s insults as a challenge and began reciting his incantations anew.

“Ah, aren’t we full of tricks today, Mr. Hull?” Hargrove chided. “I see you fancy yourself a magician of sorts. But no matter. Your attempts to prevent the inevitable are doomed to fail, Mr. Hull. I have taught you well, but not that well.”

Ethan remained steadfast and focused, ignoring Hargrove’s taunts. He recited line after practiced line in spite of his doubts and inexperience, such that even as the words left Hargrove’s mouth, the cathedral itself began to tremble. The clash between the light and darkness of Ethan and Hargrove’s respective rituals was too much for the old structure to bear. The stone floor beneath them began to crack and crumble, the walls groaning as the building started to shift. Wide fissures opened in the floor, the century-old stone warping and splitting as the two forces battled for dominance.

Ethan knew he had to act fast. Trembling, he continued, his voice steady despite the chaos around him, despite his body’s threats to betray him. The air hummed with energy as the light of the ritual grew, pushing back against the plague doctor’s dark magic. But Hargrove wasn’t about to let Ethan succeed without a fight. The demon raised both his hands once more, and as if on cue, the portal began to grow, its edges crackling violently.

Sherman barked furiously, his body shaking with the effort, his eyes locked onto Hargrove with a vicious determination. Unbeknownst to Ethan, Hargrove made eye contact with Sherman, and for a moment – a seemingly insignificant moment – the doctor’s own resolve flickered. The first inward signs of doubt. Unaware, Ethan pressed on.

As the battle between the rituals intensified, the sanctuary shook violently, the floor beneath them shifting and breaking apart. Meanwhile, the portal was expanding, threatening to engulf everything in its path. Ethan’s knees buckled as he felt the strain of his efforts to keep the gateway from opening further, but he rose again, refusing to stay down. He was pouring everything he had into the ritual, but Hargrove’s power was immense, and time was running out.

Then, in an act of unexpected desperation, Hargrove lashed out, not at Ethan, but at Sherman. The plague doctor’s hand shot forward, and a bolt of dark energy struck the retriever, sending him crashing against the stone floor. Sherman yelped in pain, his body convulsing as the current coursed through him, tearing his flesh.

“No!” Ethan screamed, his heart shattering as he watched his loyal companion fall. For an instant, Ethan hesitated.

But Sherman wasn’t done yet. Despite the pain, despite the injuries that should have incapacitated him, he struggled to his feet, his legs trembling, blood dripping from his fur. The dog limped back toward Ethan, his eyes never leaving his master’s, his determination unwavering.

Hargrove smirked, his voice filled with cruel satisfaction. “You would sacrifice your pet for this? I believe I’ve underestimated how selfish and cruel you could truly be, Mr. Hull. I dare say I’m impressed!”

Ethan’s grief and anger collided in a moment of passion Hargrove should have expected but didn’t. “He’s not just a pet!” Ethan screamed, his voice filled with a strength that surprised even him. “He’s family! And if you touch him again, I won’t just stop you, I’ll kill you!”

With a roar of defiance, Ethan refocused and completed his counter-ritual, the final words tearing through the darkness like scissors through silk. A new power surged through him in that moment, unlike that which the doctor had bestowed upon him. No, this was something different. Some way, somehow, Ethan was serving a new master.

Ethan felt the ties that bound him to Hargrove snapping, one by one, as the effects of his incantations took hold.

Hargrove recoiled, his form flickering as the light of the ritual enveloped him. If Ethan could have seen Hargrove’s reaction, hidden behind the pointed beak of his mask, he would have seen something novel etched upon the doctor’s face: terror.

“No!” Hargrove cried. “This isn’t possible!”

But Ethan didn’t stop. He pushed forward, repeating the incantations again for good measure, his voice rising above the din as the ritual again reached its peak. Hargrove, for his part, now seemed powerless to stop him.

The light grew brighter, more intense, until, at last, it was blinding, filling the entire church with a radiance that defied explanation.

The cathedral continued to quake, the stone floor beneath them buckling and cracking even more violently.

And then, with a conclusive, ear-splitting shriek, Hargrove himself was consumed by the light, his very form disintegrating, leaving behind only a faint echo of his voice, filled with disbelief and rage.

The portal, weakened considerably, collapsed in on itself, dissipating as the last traces of Hargrove’s influence waned. The cathedral fell silent, the only sound the faint echo of the wind as it blew through the broken windows.

But the victory was bittersweet.

Ethan turned to Sherman, and found his beloved companion lying still and breathing shallow. The dog’s eyes met Ethan’s, and in them, Ethan saw the same loyalty and love that had always been there. But beneath it, there was something else. Indescribable pain. Ethan’s heart crumbled.

“S-Sherman,” Ethan whispered, crawling over to his friend. But as he reached out to touch him, the building shook once more, the floor beneath Sherman giving way. The fissures that had opened during the battle widened, forming chasms.

Sherman let out a soft whimper as he struggled to stand, aware of the danger he was in, but his injuries were too severe. Hargrove’s attack had done its damage, and now, the rapidly collapsing church was finishing what he had started.

“No… no, no, no…” Ethan’s voice broke as he cradled Sherman’s head in his hands, his tears falling onto the dog’s golden fur. Sherman looked up at Ethan, his eyes filled with agony, but also with a quiet acceptance.

Ethan’s heart ached as he whispered, “I’m so sorry…”

Chapter 13

Sherman’s eyes met Ethan’s one last time, filled with that same unwavering loyalty, and then, with a final, pained whimper, his body went limp. A moment later, the ground beneath them trembled violently, and before Ethan could react, the floor split open further, and Sherman’s lifeless form slipped into the widening crevice.

“No!” Ethan screamed, his voice echoing through the crumbling cathedral as he reached out in vain. It was too late.

The grief that Ethan had tried so hard to hold back throughout the battle finally overwhelmed him, and he collapsed beside the gaping fissure, his body wracked with sobs. Part of him wished it had taken him too, if only to spare him any further grief. The weight of everything he had lost—Emily, his own humanity, and now Sherman—could no longer be ignored.

But even in the depths of his despair, Ethan knew that he had one last task to complete. The portal had been closed, and Hargrove had been destroyed, as he had promised, but the forces that had been unleashed had left the structure on the brink of collapse. Ethan could feel the entire building groaning under the strain, the roof threatening to cave in at any moment.

He had to seal the remnants of the portal and prevent any chance of it reopening. He knew that doing so would require what little strength he had left. But Ethan didn’t care. He had nothing left to live for, except to ensure that no one else would suffer the way he had.

With every ounce of energy left in his battered body, Ethan focused on the remainder of his counter-ritual, completing the final incantation for a second time, forcefully drawing out every syllable. The ground beneath him shuddered as the ripple in space-time that had first birthed the portal began to waver, and with a resounding burst, the last vestiges of Hargrove’s dark arts pulsed once more, and then vanished.

The walls of the cathedral, finally succumbing to the damage inflicted upon them, began to collapse inward, large chunks of stone falling from the ceiling. Below Ethan’s feet, the floor buckled and cracked. The entire building was coming down around him.

As the ceiling began to cave in, Ethan closed his eyes. He had done what he set out to do. He had stopped Hargrove, closed the portal, and prevented the apocalypse. And now, he hoped, he would find peace.

The last thing Ethan felt was the crushing weight of the debris as it struck him, burying him beneath the rubble of the cathedral.

* * * * * *

The world was quiet and still, the aftermath of the battle leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The stones that had stood for decades lay scattered and broken. And beneath them all, an unlikely hero, refusing to die, took a labored breath, and thought of Emily.

Amidst the ruins, a team of firefighters and rescue workers worked frantically, digging through the debris in a desperate attempt to find survivors. The scene was chaotic, with the sound of heavy machinery and shouted orders filling the air as the rescuers raced against time.

“Over here!” one of the firefighters shouted, his voice filled with urgency. “I think I found someone!”

The others rushed to his side, their hands digging through the rubble with renewed determination. And then, finally, they uncovered him—Ethan, his body broken and battered, but somehow still alive.

“Stay with us, buddy,” one of the rescue workers said, his voice shaking as he knelt beside Ethan. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

Ethan’s eyes fluttered open momentarily, his vision blurred, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. The pain was overwhelming, but through the haze, he could feel the hands of the rescue workers lifting him, pulling him from the building’s remains.

“We’ve got a live one!” another firefighter shouted as they carefully transferred Ethan onto a stretcher. “Let’s get him to the hospital, now!”

The ambulance cruised through the city streets, sirens blaring, as Ethan drifted in and out of consciousness. He could feel the life slipping away from him, the strength that had sustained him through the battle now nearly depleted. But there remained a sense of relief in knowing that he had done what he needed to do. In spite of the pain, his eyes softened, and he mustered a smile.

“Hey, buddy,” one of the first responders said, taking notice and giving Ethan a playful pat on the shoulder. “That’s what we like to see. You’re gonna be alright. Hang in there.”

When they arrived at the hospital, Ethan was rushed into the emergency room, where his former colleagues sprang into action. The doctors and nurses who had worked alongside him for years now did everything in their power to save him, their faces grim with determination.

“Come on, Ethan,” one of the doctors muttered under his breath as he worked frantically to stabilize him. “You’re not going out like this.”

But even as they fought to keep him alive, Ethan knew that it was too late. His injuries were too severe. He closed his eyes, his mind drifting as the pain began to fade, replaced by a gentle numbness.

* * * * * *

As the world around him faded away, Ethan saw something unexpected: a verdant pasture, stretching out before him, bathed in the warm, golden light of a setting sun. The air was fresh and sweet, filled with the scent of wildflowers, and in the distance, he could hear the gentle sound of a stream flowing over smooth stones.

It wasn’t at all what he had expected. He expected nothing, if he was being honest. Or perhaps an inky void. In the worst-case scenario, he expected suffering and hellfire, further punishment for his sins. He had never believed in God, or in heaven. He had chosen to put his faith in science and tangible things.

And yet, here he was, in a place of peace and rest, a place he could only describe as… heavenly.

And standing there, waiting for him, were Emily and Sherman! Ethan couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He rubbed his eyes, as if expecting to wake from a dream and find himself still trapped in his dismal apartment, awaiting orders from a demon in a mask. But when he removed his fingers, they were still there, as real as the warmth of the sun shining down on his unblemished face.

Emily’s eyes were clear and bright, free from the shadows of her addiction. There, beside her, Sherman stood tall, his tail wagging, his fur gleaming in the beautiful sunlight. There was nary a sign of their prior injuries or illnesses. It was then that Ethan noticed he, too, was free of pain, and of breaks and bruises.  Even his depression and anxiety, once a staple of his daily life, were afterthoughts. An energy coursed through him here, too, like before—but it was cleaner, fresher.

Ethan took a deep breath, savoring the sweetness of the air, and ran toward his loved ones,  his heart swelling with joy. Emily smiled, her arms open wide, and Sherman barked happily, running to greet him.

“You did it, Ethan,” Emily whispered as she embraced him, her voice filled with love and pride. “You did it.”

Ethan wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as tears of relief and happiness filled his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Emily,” he whispered. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Emily shook her head and smiled gently. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re home now. We’re together again.”

Sherman pressed against Ethan’s leg, his warm, familiar presence a comfort to his weary soul. Ethan knelt down, running his hand through the dog’s soft fur, and Sherman licked his face, his eyes beaming with a love and loyalty that knew no limits.

Ethan peered at Emily, and then at the beautiful, pristine landscape that surrounded them. The world he had left behind was healing, coming together in the face of nearly certain doom, and Ethan had landed in a paradise he never thought he’d deserved, even at his best.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Ethan took Emily’s hand, and together, with Sherman by their side, they walked into the light, leaving the pain and darkness of the past behind.

Ethan Hull, for once in his life, had finally found peace.

Chapter 14

The world moved on, as it always does, in the wake of Ethan’s sacrifice. The collapse of the cathedral and the strange, supernatural events surrounding it became the stuff of local legend, whispered about in hushed tones among the residents of Minneapolis and across the world. Official reports attributed the disaster to structural failure, a plausible explanation for the public, but those who had been nearby at the time—those who had seen the impossible—knew that something far removed from the official explanation had taken place.

Globally, the mysterious figure, dubbed by some as the Antichrist, had been a source of widespread panic. Reports of his terrifying appearances, the unexplainable murders, and the shadowy forces he commanded had struck fear into the hearts of millions. But just as suddenly as the sightings began, they ended, coinciding with the collapse of the cathedral. The world breathed a collective sigh of relief, unaware that the man behind the blurred face was Ethan Hull, whose sacrifice, ironically, had brought an end to the terror. That Ethan and the Antichrist figure were one in the same remained unsuspected, the blurring of his features protecting his identity even in death.

Despite the official explanation of the cathedral’s destruction, in circles of critical thinkers and conspiracy theorists, it was long suspected that the collapse, the demonic appearances, and the murders were all connected. Over time, the tale grew muddied, the exact details lost to history. The truth of what truly happened in Minneapolis became just another legend, debated but never fully understood.

For those who knew Ethan, the loss was deeply personal. His former colleagues at the hospital, who had fought valiantly to save him on the night of his death, carried the weight of his passing with them. They spoke of him with a mixture of sorrow and respect, remembering the man who had been both a dedicated nurse and a friend, but who had also been plagued by personal demons throughout his life. How personal—and real—the demons had been, they would never know.

Amidst the ruins of the cathedral, the rescue workers had recovered not only Ethan’s body but also Sherman’s. The sight of the golden retriever lying near his master, even in death, touched the hearts of those who found them. The two were buried together, side by side, in a quiet cemetery just outside the city.

A memorial service was held for Ethan and Sherman, a quiet, somber affair attended by those who had known them best. The hospital where Ethan had worked set up a small memorial in their honor—a simple plaque, engraved with both their names, placed in the garden where Ethan used to take his breaks. The inscription read:

“In memory of Ethan Hull and his beloved dog Sherman, faithful companions in life and beyond.”

Emily’s family, having been informed of her fate, mourned her loss privately. They knew nothing of the supernatural events that had led to her death, only that she had been found lifeless in her apartment. Her death was ruled to have been the result of natural causes, blamed on a previously undetected heart condition. They remembered her as she had been before the addiction took hold—a bright, vibrant woman who had loved deeply and been loved in return.

The cathedral, now a ruin, was eventually cleared away, the rubble removed, and the site left as an empty lot. The land was considered cursed by some, haunted by others, and no one dared to build there again.

Life for everyone else, as it always does, went on. The world outside of Minneapolis never knew the truth of what had happened in that old cathedral, not really. To them, Ethan Hull was just another casualty of a tragic accident, his story lost in the fog of history. And if you had asked Ethan what he thought of that, he would have told you that was just fine.

Somewhere, in a place far beyond the reach of the living, Ethan walked hand in hand with Emily, Sherman bounding joyfully at their side.

And for Ethan Hull, that’s all that mattered.