The Church of St. Horace perched at the top of the hill, with a winding cobblestone trail leading to the front door.

The chapel was made of old wooden slats. The white paint abandoned its splintered host in many places, and boards were nailed where a window should have been. The bell-tower stood tall over the first floor, and at its top resided an hourglass.

Chronos’ own holy symbol… thought Malkira as he drew near.

The god of time’s mark also rested on every headstone beyond the church. Again, there it was, carved into the doorway.

On either side of the old, rural church stood three of Malkira’s minions.

No… five… In the darkness, the Demon King saw the red eyes of his dreila assassins. Shadows with the shapes of men.

Two more flanked either side of the door, both burly men with the heads of lions and clad in bronze-colored armor. Then, at the door to the church, was a man in a black tunic. Leathery wings hung down around his waist, like a kilt over his black trousers.

The man’s tunic rested open just under the notch where his collar bones met, and sprouts of hair peeked out from his muscular chest. His neck was thick, and his bearded jaw wide. His hair was combed to one side, but still a wild mess, as if wind had claimed control of those locks, then they’d simply frozen that way. Thick, though short, eyebrows framed his royal blue eyes.

Malkira approached the man. “How easy was it for you this time, Switch?”

The handsome man in black did not smile but gave a confident nod and gestured back to the church door. “My lord, the priestess inside is fully under my power. She will tell you anything you want to know.”

Malkira smirked. “I must say, using you and your sister to get people to talk is far preferable to employing torturers. Why use a bully to do what an incubus or succubus can do?”

Switch thrust his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Because not all creatures can lust after an incubus, but all creatures feel pain?”

Malkira rolled his eyes and gestured for Switch to stand aside. The incubus obeyed his master’s silent command.

The Demon King entered the front door of the church, smirking as he did at the broken and smudged runes on the ceiling above the doorway.

Your magic will not keep me out today.

Each time the floorboards creaked under his feet, the ceiling and walls repeated the sound. With every step he took, Malkira caused the dilapidated church to talk to itself, and all its conversation seemed to be about how old it had become and how glorious its youth had been.

The curtains, covered in patches, shifted from the slight breeze from the open front door. The roof tapped, as if some stranger tested the shingles with a hammer. The old church moaned as frigid wind slipped through the tiny gaps in the windows and slats.

Malkira passed between the pews, the cushions of which seemed to be the only new piece of furniture in the church. Up ahead he saw the pulpit, and on the wall above and behind it the symbol of Chronos yet again.

Malkira chuckled. Just in case anyone who enters forgets which god they’re to pray to.

A woman wearing a dark blue hooded robe, tied with a blood-red sash approached the Demon King. She held in her hand a staff, upon the head of which sat a half-circle. Suspended in the half-circle was a sandglass, which turned over again the moment all the powder had fallen to the bottom bulb. Around her neck she wore a medallion with Chronos’ symbol. When she drew close, Malkira saw in her eyes the same royal blue he’d seen in Switch’s, with only a hint of brown around her pupils betraying her natural eye color.

The priestess bowed to Malkira. “My lord!” she spoke, in a voice humble and sweet. “Switch has told me of your glorious work. Oh, I long for the day the other faithful will understand as I do now. Seers are not blasphemers against the gods. They are Chronos’ blessed prophets, and they deserve our help.”

Malkira bit his lip to force back his laughter, clasped his hands together, and gave a slight bow of his head in turn. “Mother, I am glad you have seen reason. Might I know your name?”

“Vera, your grace.”

“Mother Vera,” said the Demon King. “I have need of your help for the wonderful work at hand. The prophet in my care is suffering from the early stages of the seer sickness…”

“Oh gods!” Vera covered her mouth with one hand. “Then he’ll surely go mad!”

Malkira nodded. “Unless we do something about it. He said he can be cured if he goes to a special place, ‘The Shrine of Ages.’” When the words left Malkira’s lips, the priestess’ eyes widened, and her hand slowly lowered from her agape mouth. Certain he had her enthralled, he continued. “I know nothing of this place. Tell me everything you know about it.”

The priestess sighed and rubbed the back of her head through her hood. “The Shrine of Ages… The Shrieking Shrine… by Enlil, what a tale!” The priestess raised a hand to her heart. “Chronos’ pilgrims have been searching for that place for centuries. The Shrine of Ages was the very first of Chronos’ temples, the place where his avatar dwelled, and where he anointed his high priest.”

Mother Vera closed her eyes, and childlike joy made itself known on her face. “Oh, they say it was a beautiful time! The high priest could spend hours in the Shrine of Ages, learning all about the nature of time from the avatar of Chronos himself! The high priest would emerge from the Shrine and show his acolytes what he’d learned. He’d slow time around them, allowing them to observe the wings of a hummingbird, or a single drop of water as it fell into a lake. Or, he’d turn his attention to the stars above them. The night would pass in an instant, and the acolytes would watch the heavenly lights streak across the sky in rings around the North Star. All three moons would streak by like comets.”

Malkira stroked his own chin in amusement. “So, what happened to this wonderful place?”

Mother Vera’s eyes opened, and her smile melted away. “One day… the high priest was cleaning the Shrine, and he found strange eggs in the cellar underneath. In a dark corner, there were dozens of them, and each one was the size of his fist. He told his acolytes about the eggs, and that he intended to destroy them.”

“Did he?”

The priestess bit her lip and paused.

“Mother Vera,” said Malkira, “Please, continue your tale.” He forced a smile. “Surely you would not leave me in suspense.”

“He emerged from the Shrine of Ages a day later, his face and arms covered in scars. He told his acolytes that he’d destroyed the eggs and the creatures inside.”

“But he didn’t?”

Mother Vera gave Malkira a grave look. “No one knows for sure, but over the next few weeks the high priest began to act strangely. He’d previously been a man who enjoyed meat and vegetables, but now he only ate sweets. He poured sugar in his water, soaked peaches in maple syrup, and spread honey on chocolate cakes. Strange thing was, according to the stories, the acolytes never gave him any honey.” Mother Vera raised an index finger. “Then, one day, one of his acolytes found him eating raw meat. Not just raw meat… rotting meat, crawling with maggots and swarming with flies.”

“Ugh!” Malkira shivered, then started as the ceiling creaked above him, and the house continued its internal conversation.

Mother Vera clasped her hands together and continued. “The high priest had stopped bathing too, and when his acolytes tried to clean him up, he snapped at them, and withdrew into the Shrine, where they could not follow.”

“Where was Chronos’ avatar during all of this?” asked Malkira.

The priestess shrugged. “None but the high priest had seen the avatar in years, so we can only speculate.”

“So, we have no idea what happened to the avatar of Chronos?”

“None,” said the priestess. “But what happened to the high priest… Well, soon he started coming out of the Shrine always wrapped in a blanket and shivering. He complained constantly that it was too cold. His acolytes gathered braziers around the outside of the Shrine, and kept them lit.”

“Let me guess… in spite of how cold he was, he wouldn’t go near the fires?”

Mother Vera shook her head. “No. Quite the opposite, in fact. He’d sit and stare at the fires, sometimes for hours on end. Occasionally, when he watched those flames, he’d mutter to himself, or make a clicking noise at the back of his throat. Then, after a few days of this, he’d reach out his hand to touch the flames, only to recoil when his hands burned, then stick his hands in again. Within a week, his fingers were scalded black and red. Soon, he’d fashioned his blankets into a sort of cloak, which he wore all the time.

“Weeks later, when his acolytes gathered outside the Shrine, they were horrified to find the high priest had black veins showing all over his face.”

Malkira raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Were there no healers who could do anything for him? It seems strange they’d just let his health and sanity deteriorate like this.”

The wind blew, and the church’s corners rattled. Something rapped the window behind Malkira, and he snapped his head around to catch the intruder. But it was only a tree branch scraping against the glass.

“They did try to heal him,” said Mother Vera. “They pleaded with the gods, and cast miracles over him, but it seemed to have no effect. On the day he came out with his face covered in black veins, the acolytes prayed over him, but the veins only spread. The high priest screamed at them. His cry cost one of the acolytes his hearing, and villagers a mile away reported waking up to the sound of suffering. The high priest retreated into the Shrine of Ages and slammed the door behind him.”

“Did the acolytes try to follow him?”

“They did, but the door was locked.” Mother Vera shifted her weight and shivered. “So, the acolytes called out to the angels for help, and a seraphim named Calahel came to investigate. With a wave of her hand, she forced the door open, and entered what had come to be known as the Shrieking Shrine. Two armed acolytes followed her in.”

Wind moaned through the cracks in the church’s walls, and the candles flickered. Shadows danced around the room, looming over the Demon King and the Priestess.

“The once beautiful shrine was now filled with thick webs, and the acolytes’ shoes stuck to honey covering the floor. The room was completely dark, except for the light Calahel brought with her. Behind the altar, they saw what appeared to be a cocoon against the wall. They called out for the high priest, but only their own voices echoed back at them.”

Malkira hung on the priestess’ every word. “Because he was in the cocoon?”

Mother Vera nodded. “The cocoon tore open from the inside, and from within emerged a hideous creature.” Mother Vera held up her hands like talons. “Most of its body was covered in chitin—”

“Chitin?” Malkira repeated.

“He was armored like an insect,” she clarified. “The… abomination which emerged from the cocoon had wings like a moth, pincers like a mantis, a tail like a scorpion, and… worst of all, the high priest’s face, but from his mouth came a pair of mandibles, like those of a beetle.”

Malkira covered his own mouth. “Sweet Sygin…” Something scurried in the corner, and Malkira prepared to cast a spell to kill it, only to realize it was just a mouse.

Mother Vera waved her hand as if her fingers were running feet. “The acolytes fled, but Calahel stayed to fight the creature. After a few moments of struggle, and several flashes of light from within, all anyone heard was Calahel’s tortured screams, followed by silence.”

The priestess paused for just a moment. In her silence, the whistling in the rafters made Malkira believe he could hear the screams even now. “The acolytes ran as far from the Shrieking Shrine as they could and told everyone they met about what they saw. Within a week, Metorael,” Malkira winced at the name, “the Archangel of Montu, brought an army of angels, crusaders, and zealots to cleanse the Shrine.”

Mother Vera looked up to the ceiling with a child-like awe in her eyes. “Oh, they say the angelic army was beautiful! A thousand men and women in sparkling armor, with the most stunning multi-colored feathers. Then you had the more fearsome angels.” The priestess held up both hands with her fingers and arms spread. “The amoroks! Angels who look like wolves with gleaming white fur!”

Malkira chuckled to himself. Truly, this woman was used to telling this story to pilgrims and their children. He’d heard of such exotic angels before, and always longed to see one up close. If for no other reason than to test his mettle. “Go on.”

“Angels of the sky flew above those woods in a ring, like a golden halo.”

Malkira flinched and fought off the onslaught of painful memories. “Yes yes… get on with it.”

“Then marched in the angels of the land. Golden bears and white wolves. But by the time they arrived, the Shrieking Shrine was gone.”

Malkira’s heart sank. “Destroyed?”

“No, not destroyed.” The priestess made a circle with her hands. “Gone. There was no wreckage, no crater, no hole in the ground, not even a bare patch of dirt, nothing at all to suggest the Shrine of Ages had ever existed!”

The Demon King stared at her in disbelief for a moment. Surely, this priestess was trying to misdirect him, make him give up hope. There must have been ruins! Even with all the magic he knew, he couldn’t understand a spell which could just make something disappear like that. Yet, the blue in the priestess’ eyes told him she was still Switch’s thrall, she simply could not lie to him.

Malkira groaned. “It cannot be lost forever!”

“No, it’s not,” said Mother Vera. “There have been reports, from time to time, of villagers or priests who’ve seen the Shrieking Shrine when wandering in the wilderness. One saw it in the mountains of the west. One saw it in the cliffs of Ithaca. One saw it deep in the forests of Avlo Wydrin. Anyone who saw the Shrine was too terrified to draw near.”

Malkira nodded his head, and his eyes narrowed. “Mother Vera, that’s quite a ghost story. Do you know what it means?”

“It’s not a ghost story!” Vera protested, her eyes now staring past him with a cold expression. “It’s the truth! This actually happened, my lord!”

Malkira waved his hands to calm her. “Yes, it really happened, but there is a reason people always tell the story that way.” His mouth pulled back in a grin, and his fangs shone brightly between his ash-colored lips. “The story-tellers have been trying to unravel this mystery themselves, so they keep repeating the clues over and over, hoping they’ll make sense.” Malkira raised one claw before her face. “The story itself, gives us our first clue!”

“How?” Vera asked. When Malkira glared at her for her demanding tone, she cleared her throat and averted her eyes. “Forgive my ignorance, my lord, but… how does it give us a clue?”

“You said the shrieks could be heard over a mile away.” Malkira raised one finger. “And that means that time after time, when the Shrine appeared, some poor village somewhere would hear the call. Such a horrible sound would give every child nightmares, possibly for years to come. Adults too. You’d have villagers all over the world telling stories of when they heard the Shrieking Shrine.” Malkira clapped his hands together. “Ha! We just have to get villagers talking about their local legends!”

The Demon King paced in a small circle. “So, we can send in deceivers, succubi, incubi, sangrels… any kind of demon who can pass for human long enough to live among them and hear their stories. We’ll find the villages who’ve heard this… Shrieking Shrine themselves!” Malkira stood closer to the priestess. His wings spread wider, bringing her under his shadow. His head towered over her, and in an instant, all around them was darkness. Every other sound melted away, and all Malkira could hear was the priestess’ breath.

And then, his own voice. “And I know--” the priestess illuminated in a red light as she jumped at Malkira’s words, “--that you will not tell a soul my plan, even after Switch’s spell over you wears off.” Malkira’s voice surrounded the priestess. “Because you know what angels do when they can’t drive out their enemies, my dear. Especially when Metorael is in command. Maybe you’re trying to hide it away, deny it, but it haunts your conscience every time you think about it.” Malkira waved his hand in the dark, and a ring of white fire appeared in front of him, and from the fire came countless screams. A cacophony of agony and despair. “Because you know what really happens when angels fly in a halo like this.”

Malkira waved aside the ring of fire, which instantly faded away. He crossed the room to Mother Vera and brought his lips next to her ear. In a scratchy whisper, he told her, “And the only time they ever decide to use that strategy is when they feel a town or city is infiltrated beyond all hope.” Malkira backed away and touched his claw to her forehead in the dark. “That’s why you will keep quiet, Mother. Because you know well the wrath of the gods from all your scriptures, no matter how much you want to paint a pretty face on them. But you and I both know, no matter how far we choose to bury it, that the reason the Shrine still shrieks to this day is because of what those angels did when they arrived.” Malkira’s voice wavered. “And… worse yet… the story tells us that it still wasn’t enough to eradicate the problem. They will use even more force to deal with future hopeless infiltrations.”