Chapter 21: The Theater of Sins

“Hot damn, I am the Cleric of Stories.” Gene clapped his hands and continued. “This is good. We know Hellie’s purpose. There is some hope of controlling this after all. I have several good references for hellhound reapers.”

This was not good!

Gene kneeled and ran his finger down the stack of books he had placed between us. I watched him in tunnel vision. I couldn’t believe what was happening. I already missed being ignorant. My uneasiness doubled when I saw Gene tremble a bit as he started reading.

“‘Reaper hellhounds rank as demigods among the hellhounds. They are a scourge summoned during times of crisis or the end of an age. Like other hellhounds, they have no classification, and their moral alignment reflects their master’s. They can be harbingers of doom or salvation. Woe to them, their fated prey—not only do they hunt to kill… they hunt to imprison souls.’”

I vehemently rejected the words “end of an age,” “doom,” and “imprison souls.” “Hellie’s not here to reap. Hellie’s here to be my companion.”

As I denied Gene, Hellie interrupted by scooting closer and tugging on Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users. Her new interaction befuddled me.

Stunned, I let it go.

“Are you seeing this?”

“I’m seeing it. Forget that mind-blowing topic. Nothing is topping this.”

Hellie flipped through the pages, narrowing her eyes in determination and searching. I had never seen her look and act so human. Her search ended when she slammed her finger against a page and handed me back my grimoire.

I gulped, then asked, “Is this who you are hunting, girl?”

She touched my hand, then curled up on the couch.

Gene hopped from his seat and sat on the couch’s arm, curious to see the reveal.

“What did she point to?”

At the same time, we read the page’s title aloud. “‘The Theater of Sins.’”

I sat in disbelief, numb from head to toe, for at least ten minutes. During that time, Hellie fell asleep, and Gene busied himself reading about The Theater of Sins.

It should have been me, not him, reading. But I couldn’t add more chaos to my brain. I needed a chance to process the clog of information Gene had dumped on me. Not to mention the overwhelming truth bomb Hellie had communicated before going into a blissful rest:

She’s a reaper—sent to hunt The Theater of Sins…

All I’d wanted to do was create a companion for my role-playing game, and I ended up summoning an effing hellhound demigod. Stupid me, mistaking Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users for a supplemental guidebook for The Lords of Omni.

Now I was on the hook to send Hellie on the hunt to reap souls.

AAAAAH.

The scream in my mind wasn’t satisfying.

Gene’s disquieted body language had turned into fascination. The reading thoroughly enthralled him. I think he must have felt me watching because he looked over.

“This is effed.”

Of course it is.

“Do you want to hear this or read it for yourself?”

“Just go ahead.”

“‘The Theater of Sins is a troupe of supernatural personifications forged as punishers and entertainers by the gods. Superbia (hubris), Gula (gluttony), Avaritia (greed)….’”

“The seven deadly sins?”

“Yea, you get it. Says here, there were way more in the beginning, but the ‘seven’ stuck and rose to power. Interesting… ‘The Theater of Sins members are the first creative entities in existence. They were allowed free rein to torture and punish mortals for not doing the gods’ will. But the mortals became fascinated with the Sins over time and ignored the gods.’”

Gene casually hopped up, book in tow, and headed into the kitchen—still reading:

“’So to weaken the influence of their punishments, the gods created virtues to counter The Theater of Sins. Aware of their mistake, the gods chose not to allow the virtues to have individuality. Instead, they placed them in the hearts of mortals. But their plan failed, and mortals continued to find twisted comfort in the Sins’ delights, even worshipping them over what the mortals began to call the old gods.’”

Gene stopped reading aloud and asked, “Do you want some coffee?” I passed. After a beat, he returned, eyes like black holes absorbing every word as he sipped from his cup, until something stirred him to continue.

“Oh, this sounds mad crazy. ‘Enraged, the gods grew to hate The Theater of Sins. As punishment, the gods stripped away their eternal bodies and reduced them to thoughts, bonded to the lowly psyche of mortals—creating an internal war between the mortals’ heads and hearts.’”

“Oh okay, now we have really shifted into hardcore fable. Our internal thoughts are in a war with dark entities.” Gene paused only momentarily to let me talk, but he offered no retort. He simply kept reading:

“’However, before doing so, Superbia influenced the gods—using their own pride against them to strike a deal. If a majority of the mortals ever grew to love the Sins more than the gods’ so-called virtues—or even the gods themselves—the Sins could regain their individual, eternal corporeal form. The gods agreed but vowed that if any of the entities ever surpassed them, they would destroy the world.’”

“The f#@k, man!”

“Ha, the old-school gods didn’t play, and it gets even wilder. Although, admittedly, I haven’t gotten through every page…”

Gene kicked off his shoes and squatted in his armchair, biting at his nails and flipping through pages while barking out selective reading.

“These sections break down all the theater’s members. Apparently, each has their own followers, unified under The Order of the Eternal Night—a group dedicated to their return. They believe that the Sins will break them from the system of the old gods, giving them true freedom from oppression. Check out their sigils.”

Gene shifted the book over, but before I got a good look, he snatched it back, already enthralled by a different topic.

“Oh, wait, man. This! You’re going to love this. And the way to destroy the Sins’ avatars? Reaper hellhounds!”

“No. Gene, I don’t love it. What are avatars?”

Gene’s gaze sharpened. He loved everything about this. “Billy, you play Lords of Omni. They’re manifestations. Human shells for the Sins to walk among us.”

“You said they were thoughts.” Honestly, I was a little jealous of how much fun he was having. I was confounded and terrified.

“Wow! The gods of old were tricky as hell. Listen to this—

To measure the love of mortals, they made a ‘millennium rule,’ charging nature to judge if the mortals belonged to the gods or to the sins every thousand years. As a second ‘rule,’ the Sins were charged to bear witness in mortal form—the Avatar. Okay, this is from the book: ‘On the day of the revelation under the Moon’s Sadness, the Sins must be present for judgment. If the Sins are more loved than the gifts of virtue or the gods, they will be granted their eternal forms—damning the world.’”

“Whew. Again, this is hogwash. Name any time in recorded history where sin is not valued more than virtues.”

“Okay, good point, but I can counter that. Let me finish.”

“I think throughout history, the Sins’ avatars were slain before the revelation. The rub is that at least one of them must be present for nature’s verdict. That’s where the reaper hellhounds enter the picture. The gods gave the reapers the power to destroy the Sins. And if the Sins were killed before the judgment, their bid for eternity would be postponed another thousand years.”

Gene paused and looked up at me. “Talk about stacking the cards. Like I said, the old gods were dirty. Here are entries under each of the Sins addressing the hunt.”

He flipped through some pages until he landed on his query.

“Here, check this out. This is Gula—Gluttony. Read that.”

He handed me the grimoire, placing his finger on the line he wanted me to read.

“To begin the hunt for Gluttony, the words ‘Ostende mihi gulam in anima mea’ must be spoken.”

Hellie popped up, scanning the room as if something had passed through, startling Gene and freezing my reading.

“Did she hear a noise or something?”

I shrugged. I had no clue. But no lie, Hellie’s response startled me.

As I started to close Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users—totally over fairy tales—I noticed a marking at the bottom of Gula’s entry. What I saw made me stand in awe.

“Gene, where was that sigils chart?”

Before he could answer, my quick swipes backward revealed the page.

And on it…

Admittedly a little dramatic, I pushed Gene’s books off the table, slammed down my grimoire, and pointed at the chart. It was my turn to startle.

“This open-mouthed symbol, inscribed Gula, and this angry-eyed one, Invidia—these are the symbols I saw on my attackers in the VR game and the woods.”

“Dude, slow down,” crept over me and had its intended effect. Then, following up, Gene said, “You didn’t mention anything about symbols.”

“It slipped my mind, okay. I’ve been through lots today!”

“Well, you know what this means—The Theater of Sins is here on campus!”

Mystified, I sank into the couch. The cushions somehow seemed colder than before. Over the next three hours, we dove into Gene’s selections and brushed over a slew of supernatural topics related to hellhounds, grimoires, and Sins—any little keyword that splintered us further into a rabbit hole.

After a while, I started to doze, thinking about Tiny Jem. He was with the pranksters in the open-mouth masks—Gula’s followers. He had to know something about all of this. Dreary-eyed, I patted Hellie, who was peacefully resting. It was time for us to excuse ourselves.

“I know it’s fairly early for you, but we need to retire. Hellie and I have early classes tomorrow.”

“Even after all that, you’re taking her back into public?”

“Well, I’m not chaining her up in the boiler room.”

Gene rolled his eyes. “Go on, sleep. I’m wired. I’ll be at it for several more hours at least. This is quest-level shit!”

“Don’t forget… most of it is probably fantasy,” I blurted, trying to counter his horrible exhilaration.

Gene flashed a disappointed look. After that, Hellie and I exited, but I purposely left the door open on the way out.

“Dude, shut the door.”

From the hallway, I shouted, “Got it.”

When I learned the push spell, I’d also read the pull spell below it and was curious to try it. The same principles applied, but I had to turn my palm up and pull my fingers and arm inward. Then, following those directions with the slightest motion—because I didn’t want to tear the door off its hinges—I closed the door.

“Using magic is a rush,” I said, looking over at Hellie. Then, as we walked away, I heard the door crash to the ground.

Man, another thing to add to the repair bill.

“Come on, Hellie, let’s get out of here.” We took off running toward my loft after Gene came out to examine the demolished door. I chuckled when I heard him groan behind me, and I could have sworn I saw Hellie slightly smile.

***

Almost as if we were playing a game in stealth mode, Hellie and I had spent most of the day ducking and dodging through the areas less traveled to get to classes and stay away from judging eyes.

Thankfully, we had managed to make it through the day without incident. I had my fingers crossed that it would continue. I’d devoted about three hours of the day to teaching her hand signals—to heel, to not bark—along with proper human walking etiquette. We only had to get through whatever bullcrap tasks were required for community service, then we could go hunt for Tiny Jem.

I still had no idea what I was going to do. Everything I’d learned sounded more like a tabletop campaign than reality. Just thinking about asking Tiny Jem—Do you belong to a cult dedicated to sin?—felt idiotic. But I wanted answers.

Whatever I was going to do, I had to be cautious. His group’s symbol was tied to one that wanted me dead, so he could be dangerous, too. But what could he do? I had a demigod—a reaper hellhound—at my side.

Hellie and I sat on a bench in the campus quadrangle, our appointed spot to meet my community service coordinator, enjoying the chill-but-welcome autumn breeze. She was on her best behavior and seemed happy sitting and watching people.

Student traffic was low since there were only a few hours left till dark. Which was great for me because we hadn’t gotten many stares or double-takes in the twenty minutes we had been waiting, and I was especially grateful no one had approached us. I checked my watch. In all, fifteen minutes of our wait time were because we were early, but the other five were because whoever we were supposed to meet was late.

“It’s a nice day, Hellie. After this, we can peacefully explore the campus for a bit, then find Tiny Jem. Or sooner, if the lead volunteer doesn’t show soon. Five more minutes.”

Hellie looked off into the distance, and I pulled up my hoodie and returned to using my newfound spells to push and pull tiny twigs and rocks at my feet.

“Hey, Billy. Hey, Hellie.”

I immediately recognized the voice. It belonged to Teena Aoki. Looking up at her, I quickly fell into awkwardness, gazing into her light gray eyes, accented by her pastel-orange eye shadow. Teena had a unique style that always incorporated pastel colors. Her soft, light brown hair had pink-pastel highlights, and she usually wore white and pastel colors. Come to think of it, I had never seen her in muted or dark-colored clothing.

I can’t believe I wasted time crushing on a girl who would never fit in with me or my drab, unfashionable crew.

“Hi, Teena. How do you know Hellie’s name?”

“Duh, I work in the dean’s office. It’s all Miss Bakirtzis has been talking about today, and Dean Shulenmeyers wants me to write an article or something about you two. So he sent me to supervise your community service.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Oh, sorry. I am a little late. I had to get these fresh from the printer.”

Teena opened a brown box filled with colorful flyers promoting the We! Not Me! Rally!

“Nice design.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. I created the design myself. And thanks for volunteering to help spread the message.”

“I didn’t exactly volunteer. But… I’m glad to be here for you… ah, to help.”

“Sure you did. We both know you’re able to skip this if you want. Here.”

She handed me half of the stack of flyers and some tape. I was completely loaded up. I got up, placed the materials on the bench, and then double-strapped my backpack. Next, I had to attach Hellie’s leash to my belt to free my hands to handle the flyers. There was enough slack in the leash for it to work.

“Are you going camping or what? What’s in your backpack?”

Oh, a heavy-ass grimoire that may have put me on the path to hunt ancient entities.

“Just studying materials.” I chuckled slightly out of nervousness, but it wasn’t a lie.

“Let’s start east of the quadrangle and work to the west side. Post, pass, or leave some in the buildings. Whatever feels right to get the news out.”

As we walked, delivering the flyers, we were silent for quite a while. We stayed on task. Hellie even helped a bit. Honestly, I just enjoyed being in Teena’s company again.

But, as usual, trouble reared its ugly head when I was at peace.