It was nighttime, and inside an old church, an elderly priest stood before the podium, immersed in the Bible. Despite the harrowing screams of tortured men, women, and children echoing from outside, he remained steadfast in his reading. Interrupting the eerie atmosphere, insistent knocks reverberated from the imposing double doors. The priest halted his reading and shifted his gaze towards the disturbance. The knocks persisted, relentless and unyielding.

'Yes?' The priest's voice cut through the silence.

The clamor abruptly ceased. The echoes of screams and knocks vanished, leaving only the priest's breath audible in the hushed sanctuary. Slowly, one of the doors creaked open, and a weak voice pierced the stillness, ''May I come in, Father?'' The plea reverberated through the hollow halls.

'Please, come in.' With a solemn gesture, the priest closed the Bible.

The door inch opened, revealing a man in distress—tortured, bloodied, and disheveled. He limped forward, his broken leg dragging, arms trembling and stiff as if attempting to stretch them, and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Before reaching the nearest pew, the man veered off, moving along the side of the church. The priest's unyielding stare fixated on the man, his appearance a haunting sight—clothes torn, flesh exposed, and blood trickling down his neck, resembling the aftermath of a savage attack.

As the man neared the front pew, the priest's surroundings started to morph. The edges of his vision darkened, encroaching like an ominous fog. A faint moan escaped the man, growing louder and stuttered as he progressed towards the priest.

'F-ff-f-forgi-gi-ve me...' His breaths were labored. 'Forgive me, Father. For- I-i have si-sin-sinned.'

With a sudden thud, the man collapsed, forming a chilling pool of blood. The priest's vision, shrouded in darkness moments ago, returned to its normal state.

'What sins have you committed?' inquired the priest, breaking the silence.

''Blasphemy,'' came the feeble reply from the man on the floor.

'Anything else?'

'Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Blasphemy.' The man's voice echoed weakly.

While the man repeatedly uttered the same word, each iteration grew louder and longer, his fury escalating. 'BLASPHEMY! BLASPHEMY!! BLASPHEMY!!!'

Annoyed, the priest furrowed his eyebrows. 'Against whom?'

The man turned slowly, fixing the priest with a threatening gaze. 'Him.'

Suddenly, the doors exploded, hurtling forward, shattering the windows in unison. The shock of the explosion jolted the priest. The flickering lights and candles, previously casting dancing shadows around the sanctuary, extinguished instantly. Darkness enveloped the space, leaving the priest instinctively crouching, eyes shut, arms shielding his head from the shower of glass shards.

A moment later, silence engulfed the place. Opening his eyes, he found a well-lit floor with no broken glass. Confusion clouded his thoughts.

Slowly rising to his feet, the priest surveyed the church. The intact doors and windows contradicted his previous perception, leaving him bewildered.

As his gaze ascended above the podium's horizon, another man now sat on the front pew, the previous figure on the floor gone.

'Good morning, Father,' greeted the man cheerfully, as daylight streamed through the windows, transforming night into day.

'How are you?' he inquired.

Struggling to compose himself, the priest responded, 'Call me Jules. I'm well. And you?'

'Better than you are. What happened?' The man appeared concerned.

'Nothing,' Jules replied.

'Don't lie, Father Jules. You seem troubled,' the man pointed out.

Jules took a deep breath, attempting to regain composure, adjusting his disheveled clothes. 'What happened to the man who sought confession?'

'That was you,' the man stated matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. 'Who else could it be? You're still alive, while the others are enjoying themselves outside.'

Suspicions mounting, Jules queried, 'Who are you?'

The man smiled and said, 'I'm the one who will play tag with you. It's a fun game. Many children love it.'

'That's not the answer I'm looking for. Who are you?'

The man looked annoyed as he rubbed his temple, 'Oh my God, you're still questioning at this moment. Are you stupid? Do you really think answers will matter after I torture you?'

'Yes, I think they matter.'

'Well, let's see.'

He stood up and approached Jules, who remained motionless. Jules swallowed hard, a reflex in ominous anticipation. The man grabbed his neck, dragging him toward the priest's chair. Jules struggled to free himself, but the man's grip was unyielding.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Sinking into the chair's cushions, the man looked at Jules, who gasped for air after the release. 'Ahhh, how could you sit on this chair while the people sit on those wooden pews?'

As Jules coughed on the floor, the man turned his attention to the pews. 'You treat the followers of God like slaves, as if they're obligated to follow just because of a higher profession.'

While the man slowly moved his eyes sideways at the pews, he continued, 'It must be easy to get anything from these people. The priest could ask and get money with one hand while beggars get nothing with his two's.'

Leaning closer to Jules, he continued, 'Do you know why most priests are in hell, Father Jules? Like you, still here on this world?'

Jules, still recovering from the choking, didn't respond. The man waited for him to regain his breath, then asked, 'Do you, Jules?'

'I... I don't know.'

'Goodness,' the man shook his head and continued, 'No wonder God rejected you.'

After Jules' final cough, he questioned, 'Why am I left unharmed while the others weren't, creature?'

The man's expression hardened, 'Because you were scared, hiding inside the church, thinking these images of God, angels, and saints would save you. Do you believe we start killing you when there are humans outside?'

The man chuckled and grabbed Jules by the face, hurling him across the room like a ragdoll. Jules collided with a pew, bouncing until he finally settled, clearly injured.

As the man seated himself, an unseen force dragged Jules towards him, pulling the pews along until Jules skidded to a stop in front of him. The man stamped down on Jules' chest with a shod foot, crossing his legs casually.

With folded arms, he spoke calmly, ''It irks me when you diminish me as if you're still the conquerors of this world, when its rulers have returned.''

Grimacing in pain, Jules retorted, ''So, we should obey you because of your status?''

The man laughed, pressing his foot deeper into Jules' chest. 'Unlike you, our subordinates have freedom even in our absence.'

''Don't mess with me, creature.''

'And what will you do?' The man leaned to meet Jules' gaze, only to find anger blazing in his eyes.

''I know my faith.''

'Of course, you do.' The man delivered a brutal stomp to Jules' groin, eliciting a groan. Standing up, he remained in place for a couple of seconds and continued, ''It’s all in your head.''

With a sudden and forceful grip, he seized Jules by both sides of his face, causing him pain. The man, intrigued by Jules' bloodied visage, examined the injuries closely. Using his thumbs, he meticulously wiped away the blood, leaning in as he whispered, ''You bear a striking resemblance to Him.''

Then, two faint marks appeared on Jules' neck, akin to claws. 'And this is the only way to confront Him. How it feels like. And what it looks like seeing Him this way. I wish if it were the real one."

His smile widened, voice growing guttural. 'But this will suffice.'

The man began bashing Jules' head against the chair, then to the armrest, causing the chair to flip. Blood splattered as Jules' head struck the floor multiple times. When the man stood up, he pulled Jules up high and dropped him to the floor. He then slowly clenched his hands up in the air and smashed Jules' face numerous times while smiling.

Then, in a sudden and menacing move, the man seized the side of Jules' face, pulling it slowly towards his own. Leaning in, he pressed his ear close to Jules' mouth, intent on catching every whispered word.

''And how has your faith helped?'' He mocked Jules.

Jules whispered with his last breath, ''Nothing to my flesh bu-''

Jules' mouth ceased moving, and the man queried, 'Bu- what? Was that all?'

''But something to my spirit!''

A foot, emanating a bright light aura, forcefully stomped the back of the man's head, exerting enough force to crush Jules' head and crack the floor in a wide area. Subsequently, the foot slid forward, propelling both the man and Jules' body forward.

Enraged, the man swiftly twisted his head around, encountering an ethereal sight—a young Jules floating above the floor, enveloped in light with a ray illuminating him from behind.

The man squirmed in fear, averting his gaze and turning his back to Jules, adopting a position on all fours, pressing his face against the floor in an attempt to shield his eyes.

“Do you have a name, creature?” inquired Jules.

The man, visibly terrified, responded, “I do.”

"May I know your name?"

“Please,” the man pleaded, “do not torture me.”

“I won’t, but I will banish you to Hell.”

There was no immediate response, but Jules observed as the man slowly banged his head against the floor, whispering, “Unfair, unfair, unfair,” repeatedly.

Jules pondered, “Do I have to use His name to-.”

“No!!!” the man screamed. After a few seconds, he confessed, “My name is Ikovmel, one of the greatest sons of Kovtopul.”

Ikovmel raised his upper body slowly. Jules proclaimed, “Ikovmel, while the rest of your kind are here, you will stay in Hell.”

Ikovmel stood motionless, questioning, “Why?”

Jules remained silent, prompting Ikovmel to shout, ''Why?!''

''You think this is fair? You think this is good? Why is that whatever He does is always good, but if we do the same, it’s evil?''

Despite Ikovmel’s screams and anger, Jules remained unfazed, watching his back intently as he continued his complaints.

"I know His evils, Jules. We all do. And none of you ever question them or oppose Him. He sees, watches, and allows your loved ones to be beaten, raped, and murdered. And you never speak out against it? What is wrong with you? Is that the benevolent God you stand with?"

The ray of light around Jules disappeared, gradually fading, and as his feet touched the ground, he uttered, “You seek answers?”

Ikovmel slowly turned his head, prompting Jules to continue, “You desire truth where every question has a correct answer, devoid of falsehoods or wrongs. Then come with me. I’ll bring you to Jesus Christ.”

Jules noticed Ikovmel's torso heaving as he breathed heavily, until it gradually ceased after a minute.

“Even Satan himself was granted permission to enter Heaven to converse with God. Perhaps the same might happen to you and others who learned the truth from Him before they fell into Hell. Not everyone gnashes their teeth there, Ikovmel; many weep.”

The church trembled, walls cracking. Ikovmel remained silent, rising and advancing. As he walked, his body began to convulse violently, bones shifting beneath his flesh, pushing through the skin's surface like jagged spikes, an otherworldly transformation overtaking him. Nearing the church's end, he turned, ventured to a dark corner, and disappeared into it. Jules watched for a moment before surveying the church.

As the building convulsed, everything shattered and collapsed. Angels and saints fell to the ground, and behind Jules stood a marble statue of Jesus Christ on the cross. When the roof began to break apart, nothing struck him. However, a large rock fell, shattering the statue of Jesus Christ into pieces.

Observing the destruction, Jules gazed at the head of Jesus Christ and uttered, “I am done.”

The entire church eventually crumbled, leaving only rubble. Amidst the chaos, people's screams persisted. When the smoke cleared and the day turned swiftly into night, they were seen running atop the debris, pursued and tormented by otherworldly creatures.