Patientx0

Heaven has spoken.  

The world must burn.  

When the angels descended, they did not come to save—they came to purge. The chosen were lifted into the floating holy cities, while the rest of humanity was cast into fire and ruin. Those who remained call it the End Times, the final judgment of God. But the truth is far more terrifying.  

Malachai was once an angel, a divine being forged in the light of Heaven. He believed in the will of God, in the righteousness of the purge—until he asked the one question no angel should ever ask.  

"Why?"

For his doubt, he was cast down. Stripped of his wings. Abandoned to the ashes of the dying world. Branded a demon by those he once called kin.  

Now, wandering the wastelands of a forsaken Earth, Malachai seeks answers. Why was humanity truly damned? Why do the chosen in the floating cities whisper prayers of madness? And what is the Thirteenth Commandment—the law of Heaven so terrible that even the angels dare not speak its name?  

The truth lies buried beneath the corpses of a fallen world.  

And Malachai is no longer bound by Heaven’s silence.

The Thirteenth Commandment

The wasteland stretched endlessly before them, a landscape of dust and bone, cracked earth beneath their feet. The sky loomed heavy with thick gray clouds, casting a dull, lifeless glow over everything.

As they trudged forward, Riven suddenly started humming, his voice carrying a rhythm both haunting and oddly comforting. The others picked up the tune, humming along like it was second nature.

Malachai, who had been silent the entire journey, finally had enough. He turned to Riven, about to ask how much longer they'd be searching when—

"Shh," Riven whispered, holding Malachai's mouth closed.

The others had stopped moving, their eyes locked on something ahead.

A grotesque mass of writhing flesh slithered across the barren wasteland, its form shifting, pulsating, as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Faces flickered in and out of its surface, stretching and vanishing like screams trapped beneath skin.

Senna struck first, launching her spear straight through its hide, pinning it to the ground.

Dax pulled a pair of heavy iron cleavers from his back and charged in, hacking into its flesh.

Rolf, from a distance, pulled back the string of a rusted crossbow, releasing a bolt tipped with something that sizzled on contact, burning through the abomination's skin.

Riven, ever the opportunist, leapt onto its side and plunged a jagged dagger deep into its shifting mass.

The abomination twitched, convulsed, then fell still.

The group cheered, Riven throwing his arms in the air. "Now that's a big one!"

Dax laughed. "Haven't seen one this size in a while. Should be worth a fortune in parts."

Riven turned to Malachai. "See? Nothing to—"

Malachai wasn't listening. He was staring at the creature, his expression unreadable. Slowly, he reached out and tapped Riven's shoulder.

Malachai kept his gaze fixed on the abomination. "Are you certain these things are made from a single soul?"

Riven blinked, then scoffed. "Of course. What else would they be?"

Malachai's grip tightened on Riven's shoulder. "Because I can sense more than one in this one."

Riven frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There are at least a thousand."

Riven's breath hitched as he slowly turned back to the abomination's corpse. His mind raced. That shouldn't be possible. Abominations were twisted remains of lost souls—but never this many.

A low, wet squelching sound interrupted his thoughts.

It burst from the mass, glistening with an unholy sheen.

Riven barely had time to shout, "Get back!"

The creature convulsed violently, its body shifting, growing. The thousand souls trapped within it shrieked as the abomination reformed itself, expanding into a grotesque, towering mass of despair and shifting flesh.

Tentacles lashed out, ripping through the cracked earth, tearing through the ruins nearby as its body expanded uncontrollably.

Dax gritted his teeth. "If we don't kill it here, it'll head for the camp."

Senna spun her spear in her hands, her stance tightening. "Then we stop it now."

The group readied their weapons, bracing for battle.

Malachai, meanwhile, merely stared up at the sky, as though watching something far beyond their comprehension.

A Thousand Screams