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 reaper hellhounds.”

Gene kneeled and ran his finger down the stack of books he had placed between us.

I watched him as I spiraled through tunnel vision.

Reaper Hellhound.

Gene trembled 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.”

He turned, looking directly at me, and said, “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.’”

“End of an age? Imprison souls? Hellie’s not here to reap. She’s here to be my companion.”

As I pushed back on 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.”

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 into a ball 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.’”

The classification sub-header under the title read: Dark Entities.

Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users loosened from my grip, and Gene immediately took it.

Just as I had known from the outset, I already missed being ignorant. I sat there, numb, for at least ten minutes.

During that time, Hellie fell asleep, and Gene busied himself reading about The Theater of Sins.

I should have been reading, not him.

But I needed a chance to process the torrent of information that had already been dumped on me.

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

All I’d wanted was a companion for my role-playing game, and I ended up summoning an effing hellhound demigod.

Stupid me, thinking Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users was The Lords of Omni’s supplemental guidebook.

Now I was on the hook to feed Hellie souls or die.

AAAAAH.

The scream in my mind wasn’t satisfying.

So how had Gene’s disquieted body language turned into fascination?

“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. The book says there were way more in the beginning, but the ‘seven’ stuck and rose to power. Interesting…”

Gene switched back to reading the text.

“‘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 as ages passed, mortals found pleasure in the Sins and ignored the gods.’”

“Of course they did.”

My remark didn’t even register.

“’So to weaken the influence of their immortal punishments, the gods created virtues to counter The Theater of Sins. But their plan failed…’”

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

’… because of the Sins, mortals began to think of the gods… as the old gods.‘”

He stopped. After a bit of rummaging, he asked, “Do you want some coffee?” I passed.

After a beat, he returned, reading quietly to himself. As he sipped from his cup, his eyes—like black holes absorbing every word—widened suddenly.

“Oh, this sounds mad, crazy. Charged with blasphemy, the old gods stripped The Theater of Sins of their individual eternal bodies and reduced them to thoughts in the psyche of mortals.”

“Now we have really shifted into hardcore fable. Sins are not just an act. They are dark entities living in our brains.”

Gene’s gaze sharpened.

“Do you want to know what you’re up against?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then, shush. This is important.”

“’Before the transfiguration, Superbia, hoping to outsmart the old gods by using their own pride against them, made a simple request: If the mortals ever grew to love them more than the virtues or more than the gods, could they reclaim their eternal corporeal forms? The gods agreed and created a day of judgment—every thousand years—under a ‘millennium rule.’”

“Hogwash. Name any time in recorded history where sin is not valued more than virtues.”

Gene, unaffected by my comment, kicked off his shoes and squatted in his armchair. Biting at his nails, he flipped through pages while barking out selective lines.

Honestly, I was a little jealous of how much fun he was having. I was confounded and terrified.

“These sections break down all the theater’s members. Apparently, each Sin 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 the system of the old gods—suffering and oppression—giving them true freedom. Check out their sigils.”

Gene shifted the book over, but seeing my disinterest, he snatched it back.

“Gene, how can we hunt entities that are thoughts? Are we supposed to kill everyone? Hunt down the followers—aren’t you seeing how silly this is?

In a stark-annoyed tone, he replied, “Reaper hellhounds are the only way to destroy the Sin’s avatars!”

“Did I miss something? What are avatars?”

“I hadn’t gotten to it yet. I’m parsing out the information as best I can.”

He waited a beat to begin again.

“Some time before the judgment, the Sins are given a mortal body—possession, resurrection, rebirth. It doesn’t say.”

I absorbed his words without comment—done with rebuttals. My attitude was clearly impacting Gene.

“Listen to this: ‘On the day of the judgement under the Moon’s Sadness…”

The tail end of his sentence had a noticeable drop, and I knew why.

Both of us were familiar with the saying, but I was glad he didn’t deviate.

“The Avatar of the Sins must be present for judgment. But there’s a catch.”

There was silence.

“This is where you and Hellie enter the picture.”

“The gods tasked the reaper hellhounds with hunting and destroying the avatars—so they couldn’t stand for the judgment. If none bears witness, their bid for eternity will be postponed for another thousand years.”

He soured.

“But if even one avatar is present and the mortals abandon the gods, they vowed to destroy the world.”

“The f#@k, Gene! Why are gods so addicted to the apocalypse clause?”

“Talk about stacking the cards. The old gods were dirty.”

Gene paused and looked up at me.

“Check out this one: Here’s an entry addressing the hunt. 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 from her slumber, scanning the room as if something had passed through, startling Gene and ending my reading.

“Did she hear a noise or something?”

I shrugged.

But no lie, Hellie’s response sent a chill through 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 sigil 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 shock.

“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.”

Gluttony and Envy worshipers.

“Dude, slow down,” chimed Gene.

I took a breath, but my thoughts were racing.

Then, following up, he 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 Order of the Eternal Night is here on campus!”

I had already concluded that and had begun to theorize something worse.

Mystified, I sank into the couch.

The cushions somehow seemed colder than before.

Images—the masks of the open-mouthed symbol.

Sounds—the chanting.

Smells—candy and rotten fruit.

The barrage hit me.

“Gene, they put a spell on me.”

“What!”

“I thought they were making fun of me, but I have a gut feeling now it was an incantation—the singing, the wet sheet. What did they do to me?”

“Tell me what you know. We can figure it out!”

I reiterated everything… even the micro details. Over the next three hours, we dove into our theories.

We discovered Gluttony was associated with candy and rotten fruit—excess and decay—but not a single detail narrowing down to a specific spell.

Failing to isolate anything pertinent, we broke into many side conversations—deducing details about the cult.

Gene tried to convince me that The Nameless One, even though he was there, might not have been associated—given our new knowledge.

I was less sure. I only thought the worst when it came to The Nameless One.

However, we both concluded that Tiny Jem, the one who threw the sheet on me, had to know something.

After a while the urgency dissipated, and I started to doze, convincing myself I was overreacting to the mix of fantasy and fact.

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 out 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!”

“I know some things are adding up, but maybe we’re accepting things too quickly,” I mustered, 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.

***

Hellie and I moved through the morning as if we were in stealth mode.

We spent most of it ducking and dodging through the less traveled areas, doing our absolute best to get to classes and stay away from judging eyes.

Thankfully, we managed to make it through the day without a single incident.

Mentally, 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, and 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. One, he may have put a spell on me, and two, if he was anything like The Eye’s or Envy’s followers, he may want me dead.

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, happy sitting and watching people.

Student traffic was low since there were only a few hours left till dark, which was great for me.

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. 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 pastel pink 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.