Escape

“Mist, what’s going on?” Rosary asks as Mist comes to a sudden stop. The fog is too thick for her to see the hand she grasps, but Mist’s tightening grip tells her something is very wrong. “Come on, I can’t see in this fog, so you have to tell me—”

“Tell you what, dear?” calls out a shrill voice. The words wriggle through Rosary and Mist, scratching at their ears like nails on a chalkboard. Rosary presses her back to Mist’s, clutching and swinging her chain-sickle rosary. Mist’s mind remains focused on the figure completely encompassed by the fog.

“Tell you your time has come?” the woman taunts, her robes fluttering as she dramatically sways her arms. “Tell you to prepare for death’s cold embrace? Or maybe to bid your so-called angels adieu as they watch helplessly while you’re torn apart?”

She begins stepping toward the pair, the crunch of pebbles under her feet echoing unnaturally in every direction.

“Need a plan!” Mist thinks, racking her brain for anything that could help. “Still no sign of the arch-devil… maybe he won’t show. If so, then maybe if we just distract the diviner…”

The more she thinks, the more pressure builds up in her nose.

“Where’s it coming from?” Rosary whispers, hand trembling with anticipation of a strike.

“Hang on, I have an idea,” Mist replies, hardening her resolve. She can feel the blood eager to rush out again as soon as she plays her trick, but there is no other way. “If I can hear through the fog, something nobody ever expected, then I should be able to generate lightning now.”

With that thought in mind, Mist wiggles her fingers. Keeping her movements as subdued as possible, she visualizes electricity moving from the sky to the ground with the diviner’s body in between.

*POP!*

A sound like blowing a fuse echoes through the shrine as a body falls to the ground. Energy bursts through the air, but the diviner remains steadfast on her feet.

“Mist!” Rosary calls, feeling her comrade fall. Mist curls into a ball as blood oozes not just from her nose, but from every other opening on her face. Eyes, ears, mouth, and even her fingernails are quickly drenched in thick, dark blood.

“Ah, ah, ahh,” taunts the diviner, waving her finger like a scolding parent. “Mustn’t tax your powers too much, dear. Wouldn’t want that body of yours to give out before you can share your secrets with me.”

Rosary gives no attention to the voice that seems to come from everywhere, focusing solely on her fallen comrade.

“Lift the fog so I can see the gate,” she orders, grabbing Mist in her arms. “I’ll get us out, just.”

*CLICK*

With the snap of a finger, the fog dissipates around Rosary and Mist, revealing the shrine grounds. They stand near a corner, less than a dozen meters from the gate, with the diviner as the sole visible obstacle.

“Did she? No, Rosary thinks, looking down at Mist’s disheveled state. She’s in no state to use her powers. Then that must mean…”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear,” says the diviner, flashing a wicked grin from under her hood. “Sure, I may just be an old woman, but within this lair…”

Her words rattle through Rosary’s chest with an unnaturally eerie tune.

“This must be the lair master, she thinks, sizing up the woman before her. What was the rank needed to take on human form like that? Oh, that doesn’t matter. I need to get Mist out of here and purified before the desecration sets in. She’s the only one here, so if I can manage to distract her…”

“An old woman who seems to be underestimating me,” Rosary challenges, gripping her chain-sickle and readying her stance to throw it clean through the diviner’s chest.

“Oh, on the contrary,” says the diviner, shaking her head. “You don’t think I’ve been watching you two harass my customers as they leave this shrine? I know all too well your dedication to preserving even the most wicked of souls. Otherwise, you’d simply attack my customers before they enter, which would certainly make it easier for you.”

She begins circling Mist and Rosary, stepping like a peaceful beach walk as she loops around her prey.

“You wouldn’t dare hurt an old woman.”

“Good thing that’s just a mask you’re wearing,” Rosary thinks, springing into action.

She launches the crucifix-sickle in a wide arc, sending it clear away from the diviner. For a second, it looks like she missed by a mile, until she yanks the chain. The yank changes the arc, sending it straight at the diviner.

Rosary doesn’t wait to see the crucifix make contact. Instead, she gathers Mist in her arms, legs prepared to leap at the opportune moment. She feels the chain’s vibrations as it hits something. Confident in her strike, she leaps for the gate, only for her eyes to widen at what she sees.

Her chain hasn’t struck the diviner. Instead, a massive hand with claws as long as her arm erupts from the ground, catching the chain between two fingers and stopping the crucifix before it reaches its target. The diviner remains unflinching, her wicked smile flashing as if to drain Rosary’s resolve.

“Not quick enough, dear,” the diviner mocks as a sinkhole opens directly below Rosary.

“Gah!” she cries as a second hand erupts from the hole, its claws thrusting upward like spears. She tries to dodge in midair, but with Mist in her arms, there is no way to avoid the strike entirely, only to shield vital areas. Blood bursts from her calf and forearms as the claws slash her skin.

Pain shoots through her nerves, but she refuses to relent. Even as the wounds prevent her from landing safely, she refuses to give in, taking the brunt of the impact by shielding Mist with her own body. The impact knocks the wind from her lungs and makes passing out an all-too-sweet temptation, but her mind remains fixed on a single focus.

Her chain rattles as she pulls the crucifix back to her hand. Though the chain is held tightly by the claws at first, as soon as the crucifix nears, they release it, letting the holy object cut them like a hot knife through butter.

“Oh, my foolish little girl, do you still intend to fight?” taunts the diviner, taking slow strides toward the collapsed pair.

“Don’t fall for it,” calls a voice from behind.

Rosary turns her head and sees an upside-down image of her guardian standing just beyond the torii gate.

“Just get outside the gates!”

“But you already said you can’t help even after I get outside, Rosary thinks, looking back at the diviner’s exposed stance like food during a long fast. And the arch-devil will no doubt follow us outside… If I can just—No!” she rebukes herself. “He seeks my ultimate good always.”

With that thought, Rosary launches her crucifix again. At first, it looks like she is preparing for a second wide swing, but instead, when she yanks the chain, the crucifix wraps itself around the pillars of the torii gate and wedges itself deep within the wood.

With one more mighty yank, Rosary pulls herself and Mist toward the gate, flinging them both unceremoniously onto the street beyond. The asphalt, of course, tears clothes and leaves exposed skin scuffed, but they’re out.

Rosary looks to where her guardian was standing, but sees nothing. Instead, she feels a massive rush of power as her pain vanishes and her bleeding wounds close.

“Glad you listened,” says her guardian’s voice. “Now just sit and look like pathetic bait for just a moment.”

“What are you going to do?” Rosary whispers, watching the diviner step to the edge of the torii gate.

“I’ll simply be tending to your wounds,” her guardian says, his cheeky grin flashing through Rosary’s mind even as his form remains invisible. As Rosary sits there, the diviner’s smile contorts to a frustrated snarl.

“After them!” she orders, pointing a long, bony finger toward Rosary, who grips her crucifix in preparation.

Rosary feels the tremors before she sees the source. Massive clawed hands grasp the gate pillars and pull a huge upper body through. The gigantic shoulders shimmy to squeeze through the gate, followed by a thick, serpentine lower body and tail. The demonic face resembles a wolf’s skull with oversized canines and hollow eye sockets. The arch-devil stretches its body to its full height, towering nearly 20 meters.

Rosary’s crucifix rattles in her trembling hand. Despite knowing the creature has less power outside its lair, despite her guardian’s assuring words, despite knowing her salvation is assured, a bottomless pit of fear opens in her stomach and overtakes her. She grits her teeth in determination to resist, but they still chatter. She’s frozen in fear, so cold that not even the fires of hell could melt it, until clopping footsteps erupt from behind her.