Darkness

Darkness…
Silence…

The only two elements that were present were the deepness of night, the black dripping from the walls and coating the floor in an endless nothing, and the stillness. Nothing tremor the depth of quiet, nothing risked their identity to awaken sound. There was nothing. The elements combined creating a dimension of hatred, fear torturing the living with its mystery. So, no feet were heard upon its floors for many years, death living within.
It was almost a living breathing hell, a morgue, a chamber of Darkness and Silence. Light crumpled before its strength, hiding within the corners, slowly evaporating becoming one with domination. Only demons could escape its suffocation, its detestation, its immortality. Even before the light, before the humans, before demons and before domination - it reined surviving beneath our skin among the past, crushing the future.

And here it lay, its strength shutting the windows and evading the moonlight. Here it lay devastating what ever reached within its grasp, even if was surrounded by the dark walls of the Seraph Mansion, upon a hill, lightened by celestial rays, illustrated by heaven, governed by hell. Tis where the claws of many, syringe down the dark walls, where the screams can be heard through day and through night, where you’ll never depart, you’ll never remember… You’ll never survive…

The steeple, the highest enduring part of any building for miles, was the prison. They were kept there, their blood spilt along the walls and upon the ceiling. They were licked of moister, their muscles torn from their body. But still they kept them alive, alive so they could be heard, so they would age and continue to produce meals. The steeple scared the sky, clouds forever hovering and projecting the sounds for miles.
When the screams ceased, they’d search, travelling perhaps once a year, kidnapping children, women or even a large man to harvest, one of the few that shall pass. Even the men would scream, scream their lungs bloody and their throats dry till they could cry out no more. There were no rescue attempts. Why waste several healthy and decent family men when everyone knew the hostage would never return.

But someone challenged those myths, those stories and those screams…

Here, the steps echoed, bouncing upon the night walls. The boots stepped, once, twice, thrice within the hall of Seraph stopping below the steps and swivelling toward the demons. Fangs were bared, their tongue of flame stroking the white incisors, saliva dripping from midnights of starvation. The demon cried within the night but the boots remained, flinchless and steady. They could taste the flesh now, within their jaws, the blood seeping down their throats and cascading from their claws. Tonight, blood would flow from the walls again. A feast for demons, a feast awaiting for many midnights.

Silence was broken…