Cathedral of Frozen Bones
The chapel doors groaned as Max and Coach Roberts forced them open. A blast of cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of rot and ancient ice. Lena and Nika clung to me, breaths misting in the lantern light. We stepped inside together, boots crunching on bone-dust snow.
Before us stretched a hall of death: pillars built from cracked skulls, femurs arched into ribbed vaults, vertebrae woven like grotesque stained-glass. Frost glazed each bone, turning ivory into dull slate. I swallowed, bile rising. This is his throne room, I thought, Ulzakar's cathedral.
Overhead, the vaulted ceiling arched like a night sky. Faint moonlight filtered through holes in the stone, illuminating swirling motes of dust and frost. Shadowy forms lurked in the corners—chained bodies, blackened and frozen mid-scream, eyes wide with terror. Their sinewy bindings were thin filaments of flesh that pulsed faintly in the gloom.
At the far end, on a dais of shattered pews, sat Principal Bradford's corpse. His body was rigged with spirals carved deep into his flesh. His eyes were obsidian pits; his teeth had been sharpened into cruel spikes. One bony hand gripped a bloodied chalice; the other rested on an armrest of rib bones. Crimson liquid dripped from the chalice onto the stone steps, each drop echoing like a scream.
Lena gasped, gripping Nika's arm. "This… this is where he waits."
Coach Roberts fired a flare. The red light flared across the chamber, igniting the bones with flickering infernal glow. Skull mouths opened in silent laughter. Shadows snapped across the floor. Nurse Clarke stumbled forward, clutching her med bag like a shield. Max's face hardened in determination.
I drew a shaky breath and stepped closer. "Ulzakar," I whispered.
The corpse on the dais stirred—a jointed puppet awakened. Bradford's body cracked as it rose, bones grinding. He stood, chalice in hand, spirals glowing pale blue. He lifted the chalice, tilting it toward us. The liquid inside swirled: a mixture of my mother's blood, my father's, Rowan's, and countless others. Each drop bore a faint echo of agony.
Ulzakar's voice rolled through the chapel—a deep, hollow rumble. "Welcome, children. Drink, and join me."
The fetid stench of the blood assaulted my nostrils. I closed my eyes, fighting nausea. Nika trembled beside me, lips white.
Coach Roberts aimed his shotgun. "Now!"
The report thundered through the hall. Buckshot tore into Bradford's chest, ripping spirals into splinters of flesh. The chalice flew from his hand and shattered on the floor. Blood and bone fragments sprayed the skull pillars.
But Bradford did not fall. Instead, the wound knit itself closed, flesh reforming like melted wax. He flexed his arms, unbroken, and descended the dais with supernatural grace. His grin widened into a slash across his face.
Max swung a heavy crowbar, metal ringing against bone. Sparks flew when the crowbar met Bradford's arm. The blow dented bronze-like flesh but left no lasting mark. Bradford's laughter echoed, the sound of clattering teeth.
Nurse Clarke raised her syringe. "Hold still!" she cried, plunging its needle into Bradford's thigh. A hiss of cold blood spurted. The demon staggered but recovered instantly. Clarke fell to her knees, clutching her ribs—one crushed beneath Bradford's foot.
"Medic!" Coach Roberts yelled. He fired at Bradford's knee, but the bone there was a mirror of ivory steel. The blast echoed hollowly.
I gripped my staple gun, palms slick with sweat. I fired staple after staple into Bradford's forearm, each shot jarring my bones. Flesh puckered then healed around the metal. The demon advanced, eyes locked on mine.
Bradford reached out, catching me by the shoulder and flinging me into a heap of shattered pews. Pain blossomed in my shoulder as I tumbled over bone shards. I gasped for breath, vision red at the edges. Ulzakar's vessel loomed above me—a mountain of malice.
Lena screamed. She lunged forward with her fire poker, swinging in a wide arc. The poker bit into Bradford's shoulder, dragging a long strip of flesh. Bradford roared, a feral sound. He grabbed Lena by the waist and slammed her into a skull pillar. I scrambled forward, abandoning my staple gun.
"GET BACK!" I screamed.
Max and Coach Roberts converged on the demon together—crowbar and shotgun. Coach fired once more, point-blank, blasting Bradford's temple. The shot cracked bone and sent the head lolling, but then it returned upright, as if magnetized.
Blood pooled on the stone floor. The spiral wounds on Bradford's arms glowed brighter—blue veins crackling underneath. His grin flashed with bloodied teeth. The horde of chained figures began to stir, hollow moans rising in unison.
Nurse Clarke crawled toward me, face pale. "Satrio… do you remember the ritual notes?" she gasped. "The blood-spinner… the chalice… it binds him!"
I blinked, recalling the principal's journal: "Only the blood of the innocent, poured into the demon's vessel in pure sacrifice, holds his power sealed. To break his bond, the vessel must choose redemption."
Redemption. The vessel. Bradford. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the spiral on my palm throbbing. I squeezed my eyes shut. It must be me. I have to sacrifice myself—offer my own blood willingly. My heart thundered.
I staggered to my feet, limping forward through the carnage. Bradford turned, focusing on me. I raised a hand, palm out. Crimson smeared my sleeve where I'd grazed a shard of bone earlier. It dripped down my wrist onto the floor.
"Bradford!" I called, voice shaking. "I offer my blood to free you!"
Ulzakar's grin widened. The chained figures ceased their moans. The flares dimmed; the chapel became hushed. All eyes—empty and black—turned to me.
I stumbled to the dais, each step a blistering agony in my shoulder and leg. Lena struggled to stand, bloody but defiant. Coach Roberts shielded her as we pressed forward. Nurse Clarke supported her. Max stayed behind to guard the flanks.
I climbed the dais steps, heart in my throat. Bradford's chalice lay among shattered bone. I knelt and picked up the chalice's handle, ignoring the shards of glass and bone cutting into my fingers. The crimson liquid inside stirred as if alive.
Bradford's eyes locked on mine. "You cannot save them," Ulzakar whispered, voice like grinding ice. "Your blood will drown them all."
Tears burned my eyes. I have to try. With a trembling breath, I sliced my palm open on the chalice's rim. Pain seared through me, white hot. I gritted my teeth as blood welled up. I let the droplets fall into the chalice, one by one—my blood mingling with the stolen life of the innocent.
The spiral on my hand pulsed, warmth radiating into my arm. The chains binding the victims rattled. Skin vines snapped and withered. Their faces softened; eyes cleared for a moment before rolling back.
Bradford's vessel swayed, chalice in his hand trembling. His grin cracked like glass. He's remembering. I added another drop of blood, watching it swirl bright against the older stains.
Ulzakar's roar shook the chapel, a sound of anger and fear. Bones groaned, stones cracked. Pillars of skulls toppled in clouds of dust. Frost flakes drifted down, as if the chapel itself wept.
Then Bradford's hand tightened around the chalice. He raised it to his lips. At that moment, I felt the world tilt. His eyes—those dark, demon-filled pits—cleared a fraction. A flicker of recognition passed across his face.
He drank.
The chapel exploded into blinding light. A wave of warmth surged through me, banishing the cold. Bones shattered into harmless shards. The stained ribs collapsed into dust. The spirals on Bradford's flesh glowed once, then faded to nothing.
I collapsed backward, chalice slipping from my fingers. Blood flowed from my wound, but I was weightless, warm, safe.
When vision cleared, I saw Bradford on his knees, body whole once more but eyes wet with tears. Nurse Clarke knelt beside him, unchaining him from a ruined pillar.
Lena rushed to my side, face streaked with blood and tears. She knelt and kissed my cheek. "You did it," she whispered. "You saved him—and all of us."
Coach Roberts helped Bradford to his feet. Bradford's face was haunted, shadowed by what he'd become. He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Thank you," he said, voice trembling. "You freed me."
Max lit the final flare. Its light revealed the chapel transformed: rubble, shattered bone, melted ice. All the horror vanquished, carried away on a tide of warmth.
Exhausted, I lay back on the dais steps. My blood pooled around me, a circle of life recovered. I touched the spiral on my palm—faded where I'd bled. I closed my eyes.
I don't know how long I lay there, I thought. Time stopped. The chapel's whispers became lullabies.
When I finally rose, the storm outside had stilled. Dawn's pale light filtered through broken windows. The survivors gathered around me: Lena, Nika, Max, Coach Roberts, Nurse Clarke, and Bradford—no longer demon, only a broken man.
I coughed and whispered, "We did it."
Bradford smiled, tears in his eyes. He touched the spot on my palm. "You gave everything to end this. You are a true guardian."
I nodded, too weak to speak. The chapel of frozen bones was silent, its horrors undone. Outside, the world was silent too—empty, vast, and suddenly peaceful.