Run | ZACK FOSTER [ 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏 ]

Chapter XVII - LIGHT TO HELL

Zack was unconscious. On one hand, you could go investigate the floor. You had a gun. The single fact Cathy had a bullet through her is enough proof of that. On another hand, you could simply drag Zack everywhere you went to ensure his safety, but also tiring you on the long run.

You decided to go with the first option, because as much as you hated to leave Zack as vulnerable as he was, you had to at least search the area, and try and find something to stop Zack's bleeding.

The elevator sounded its familiar ring, and you carried Zack and his scythe towards the hallway, slowly but surely, making sure that the scythe was in a safe position so that Zack would be able to grab it if he woke up, but that he wouldn't cut himself more.

You made a break for it then, running ahead, looking at the hallway ahead of you. I have to help Zack. He can't die, not yet!

You then reached two doors, and a candle on a pedestal in the middle. How odd..

It almost reminded you of a church. You knocked on one of the doors, keeping the gun in one of your hands.

You had already resorted to force once; it was useless to try and stop yourself from doing so again.

You opened the door upon receiving no response, and entered an area that seemed very similar to that of a church.

Did a priest live here or something..?

You looked ahead, seeing an organ. Something seemed...familiar.

How odd.

Pink mist made its way, curling around you, transforming the area. Around you were paintings. Paintings you despised.

This pink mist was awfully familiar. This was the same mist I saw back at B6...or before I was transferred to B6, better said.

You looked behind you, and saw a paper. The handwriting was elegant, but readable.

Who are you?

The one you believe yourself to be? Or the real you?

Are you one of the lost?

Or are you a devil? A demon?

A mirror appeared in front of you. A twisted form of yourself shattered into a million pieces laid before you. Is that....me..? You decided to keep on reading, turning your back on the mirror.

If you don't recall your sins..

Tear them

Drag them out

You narrowed your eyes. You looked in front. Back to the paintings. In one, there was a prison cell. Bang. 

Another one showed a circular rope; shot down as well. You made your way to the last one. There was a small girl. A smile was present on her face, but an apathetic glare rested on your face.

"Leave my sight," you muttered, as you shot it three times, blood pouring down. A bottle was beside you, and you picked it up as you filled it until every drop of blood was inside.

Tear them up and drag them out.

Tear them up and drag them out.

Tear them up and drag them out.

Tear them up and drag them out.

Tear them up and drag them out.

You sighed, looking at the bottle of blood. It was your own blood. The  pink mist around you evaporated, returning you back to the room with the organ. An instruction set was there, and at the last point, it said to spill your blood on the saint.

"I'm not tainting this world with my sins," you whispered, spilling the blood on your hands. The iron scent made you want to puke, but you would not taint anyone else and blame your sins on them.

Music came from the organ, a headache stirring within you again. You let out a scream in your pain. Make it stop...!

About a minute later of agonizing pain, it stopped, and you fell on your knees. Who had done this..?

"I see...so that's your choice," a voice said. Your eyes widened. This can't be who I think it is, can it..?

"Abraham Gray?" you asked, on the verge of tears.

"The very same."