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Description

Rheyl stood outside the carved, wooden doors of St. Peter’s Cathedral. He reached out, tentatively at first, and placed a hand on the dark wood. Gently his fingers traced the grain, moving up and down slowly,  and a tremor of anticipation went through his body.
This was it. This was when God finally struck him down for his heinous deeds.

Tonight he’d writhe in the fires of Hell with Lucifer himself.  There was no reason why God wouldn’t punish him. He HAD to punish him. Otherwise, Rheyl was fairly certain he couldn’t bear any form of existence.

If there was no punishment… if… if… there was no God… If he was really alone.

Rheyl knew what Hell was.

He put his other hand on the second door and braced himself. A surge of exhilaration went through his body and he threw the doors open, his superhuman strength shattering the lock, and most of the doors with it.

And then, raising his head like an undead prince, he strode into the church, lifting his arms to receive his just punishment.

It didn’t come.

Anger flowed out from his chest- his heart- so much that it hurt. Clenching his fists to contain himself, Rheyl walked up the center aisle, boots echoing hollowly on the marble. He tilted his head back to glare defiantly at the crucifix hanging from the arched ceiling before him.

“What are you waiting for?!!” he shouted at the twisted body of his Christ. “Destroy me! I am a monster! The very sight of your Holy Face should burn my eyes from their sockets!!”

Rheyl placed his hands on the Eucharist altar where hundreds of Catholics had received their Host. His fingers curled around the sculpted stone clenching so tightly his knuckles were whiter than the marble they grasped.

Countless emotions crashed through his body. Frustration, Hatred, Anger, Fear,… Despair.

“Either save me or kill me” he said through clenched teeth, “but don’t abandon me”

The crucifix held its silence.

No one was going to come and smite him.

No fiery damnation would claim him.

There was no God.

There was no Christ.

There was no Satan.

There was only hell, this living hell that slowly choked him every night. Tortured him, claimed him, owned him.

He was Lucifer. Struck down from Heaven.

Only this time, there was no Heaven.

Salvation was only a fragile lie made up to hide from the world’s reality.
Rheyl was trembling violently as he bowed his head before his faith. Not in reverence, but in defeat.

“NO!!” he roared, turning and grabbing the first row of pews, which lined each side of the church. In his anger he ripped the wooden posts from their stone bases, and hurtled it across the Church.  Then he lowered his fist, smashing it through three more rows. When he brought his hand back up, it was cut and bleeding profusely, practically shredded.

Then, before his eyes, the bleeding stopped. The skin closed over itself. Smoothly, his body restored what had been broken.

Repulsed, Rheyl went into a fit, raging at God, himself, the world and all humanity.
When he was done the cathedral was in ruin, and the sound of sirens howled in the distance.

Turning, Rheyl made to spit on the crucifix, which lay shattered at his feet. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Swiftly, he abandoned the building and made out into the night, traveling by rooftops.

Feeling hollow and disgusted, he stopped at the edge of a flat roof, blindly looking out across the city that he reigned over.
He lifted his hand to his chest and clasped the cross hanging there. Rheyl held onto it as despair welled up and washed over him, consuming any traces of a soul he had left.

Description

Rheyl stood outside the carved, wooden doors of St. Peter’s Cathedral. He reached out, tentatively at first, and placed a hand on the dark wood. Gently his fingers traced the grain, moving up and down slowly,  and a tremor of anticipation went through his body.
This was it. This was when God finally struck him down for his heinous deeds.

Tonight he’d writhe in the fires of Hell with Lucifer himself.  There was no reason why God wouldn’t punish him. He HAD to punish him. Otherwise, Rheyl was fairly certain he couldn’t bear any form of existence.

If there was no punishment… if… if… there was no God… If he was really alone.

Rheyl knew what Hell was.

He put his other hand on the second door and braced himself. A surge of exhilaration went through his body and he threw the doors open, his superhuman strength shattering the lock, and most of the doors with it.

And then, raising his head like an undead prince, he strode into the church, lifting his arms to receive his just punishment.

It didn’t come.

Anger flowed out from his chest- his heart- so much that it hurt. Clenching his fists to contain himself, Rheyl walked up the center aisle, boots echoing hollowly on the marble. He tilted his head back to glare defiantly at the crucifix hanging from the arched ceiling before him.

“What are you waiting for?!!” he shouted at the twisted body of his Christ. “Destroy me! I am a monster! The very sight of your Holy Face should burn my eyes from their sockets!!”

Rheyl placed his hands on the Eucharist altar where hundreds of Catholics had received their Host. His fingers curled around the sculpted stone clenching so tightly his knuckles were whiter than the marble they grasped.

Countless emotions crashed through his body. Frustration, Hatred, Anger, Fear,… Despair.

“Either save me or kill me” he said through clenched teeth, “but don’t abandon me”

The crucifix held its silence.

No one was going to come and smite him.

No fiery damnation would claim him.

There was no God.

There was no Christ.

There was no Satan.

There was only hell, this living hell that slowly choked him every night. Tortured him, claimed him, owned him.

He was Lucifer. Struck down from Heaven.

Only this time, there was no Heaven.

Salvation was only a fragile lie made up to hide from the world’s reality.
Rheyl was trembling violently as he bowed his head before his faith. Not in reverence, but in defeat.

“NO!!” he roared, turning and grabbing the first row of pews, which lined each side of the church. In his anger he ripped the wooden posts from their stone bases, and hurtled it across the Church.  Then he lowered his fist, smashing it through three more rows. When he brought his hand back up, it was cut and bleeding profusely, practically shredded.

Then, before his eyes, the bleeding stopped. The skin closed over itself. Smoothly, his body restored what had been broken.

Repulsed, Rheyl went into a fit, raging at God, himself, the world and all humanity.
When he was done the cathedral was in ruin, and the sound of sirens howled in the distance.

Turning, Rheyl made to spit on the crucifix, which lay shattered at his feet. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Swiftly, he abandoned the building and made out into the night, traveling by rooftops.

Feeling hollow and disgusted, he stopped at the edge of a flat roof, blindly looking out across the city that he reigned over.
He lifted his hand to his chest and clasped the cross hanging there. Rheyl held onto it as despair welled up and washed over him, consuming any traces of a soul he had left.