Part 2 – Flames of Purity

Chapter One – Forest of Sinners

“Wh-where are we?” P.T.’s question arrived as a whisper.

“Purgatory,” I said, though I knew that would hardly suffice.

“Are…are we angels?” He was staring at his hands, turning them over and examining them as one might a cryptic message.

“So, it would seem.” I didn’t really have the answers P.T. was looking for, but I wasn’t sure he really expected me to. It was also clear I was speaking and thinking in Latin, and since the others appeared to understand me, I assumed they were as well. I had learned Latin years ago, but as far as I knew neither of my companions knew anything other than English.

With a sudden blast of wind and sand, Claire stretched her wings and lifted herself off the ground. I covered my eyes against the whirlwind of sand as she ascended to the sky. P.T. could only stare in amazement. A moment later Claire dropped back down, her experiment with flight evidently completed.

“We have company,” she said, pointing out over the ocean to the distant horizon.

I turned, my eyes narrowed, to see something flitting in and out of the clouds. It seemed tiny, like a bug, but as it slowly began to grow I realized with alarm it was heading in our direction.

“Come on,” I said with a wave. “I’m not sure we want to be here when that thing arrives.”

P.T. and Claire were eager to follow as I led them down an unremarkable yet well-trodden path through the forest. A small stream bubbled nearby, running parallel to the path, but there were no other signs of wildlife. We moved deeper into the woods, and I felt a flood of serenity wash over me, building like a crescendo with every step.

“I don’t think the ritual worked,” P.T. remarked, just to break the unnerving silence.

“I’m inclined to agree,” I said. “Perhaps we must close the gate from this side.”

We rounded the next corner, and ahead lay a man on a boulder just off the edge of the path. He wore tattered Grecian robes, distinctly from the late twenties or early thirties. Claire readied her sword as though she had trained with it all her life, but P.T. reached out to lower her blade.

“Hang on,” he said. “Looks like he’s sleeping. Let’s wake him and see if he can help us out.”

Claire nodded in agreement, but maintained her readiness.

P.T. walked up to the man and shook him gently on the shoulder. He opened his eyes briefly, but just rolled over and fell quickly back to sleep. P.T. gave the man a more forceful shake, and this time he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched his tired limbs. When he finally looked at us and realized who were, his eyes opened wide with excitement.

“Oh, greetings, Deities,” he said, his tone a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Greetings,” P.T. said, trying his best to sound authoritative. “What is your name?”

The man sat up straight and poked a thumb into his chest. “I’m Manfred of Sicily, at your service.”

“Thank you, Manfred of Sicily. Tell us, where does this path lead?”

Manfred’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you ask?”

Before P.T. could find an answer, Manfred threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “You’re testing me, aren’t you? Well, the trail leads to Heaven, of course.” He pointed up the trail in the direction we were traveling, and seemed very proud of himself.

P.T. glanced in that direction and nodded. “Thank you.” He paused a moment then looked at Manfred. “How do you fill a typical day here?”

Manfred shrugged. “Oh, you know, this and that.” It seemed clear his days consisted largely of sleeping on this rock.

“How far is Sicily from here?” Claire asked.

“Oh, very far. Yes, very far indeed,” Manfred said before hopping down. “You know, I was a king there. Loved poetry. Shall I recite one for you?”

Before anyone could protest, he began reciting a poem about war, but stumbled over many of the words, as if he had forgotten more than he remembered. As he struggled to find the words, he forgot about us and I motioned for us to continue up the path.

“Have either of you read Dante’s Purgatorio?” I ask once we left ear shot of the rambling former king.

P.T. shook his head, but Claire nodded affirmatively.

“I did,” she said. “Do you think that’s where we are?”

“Maybe. A note in the book we found a the warehouse referred to this place as a recursion.”

“What does that mean?” P.T. asked.

I could only shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but let’s keep going. The answers will come to us in time.”

As we continued through the forest, we passed more people, some sleeping, others picking flowers. Some were deeper in the woods while others were closer to the path. All of them ignored us, and soon their numbers dwindled until there were none left.

Then the forest cleared, opening at the base of the massive black basalt wall of the mountain. A gate stood in front of the wall where an angel sat upon a throne and two human figures in white robes stood before him. They seemed to be speaking, but we couldn’t make out their words at that distance. The angel leaned forward, and with his sword drew upon their foreheads. With the final stroke, the people vanished.

Chapter Two – P for Penitence

“Hey,” P.T. said, glancing around. “Where’d they go?”

“In there, I suspect,” I said, pointing towards the gate.

Claire nodded in agreement. “This must be the forest where sinners wait to ask for forgiveness.”

“And what, those gates lead to Heaven?” P.T. asked.

“Yes,” I said before reconsidering. “Or more likely Heaven is at the top. If I recall correctly, this mountain should have seven levels inside, each a representation of one of the seven deadly sins where sinners must perform a task to achieve forgiveness. That angel probably carved the letter ‘p’ upon their foreheads.”

“Why?”

“Penitence,” Claire answered.

“Sure, that makes sense,” P.T. said, looking as though none of this made any sense at all.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go see if that angel can help us find the gate.”

We approached the angel, who sat upon the throne staring unblinking with eyes of milky white. He held his sword with the tip facing down, one hand resting lightly atop the pommel.

“Welcome, Guardians,” he said as we drew near, his gravelly voice booming with authority.

“Greetings,” P.T. said, putting on his most charming smile. “We were wondering if you could help us find something.”

“You search for an irregularity.”

“Yes,” P.T. nodded. “An inapposite gate. We wish to close it.”

“Through my eagles, I can see all the shores of Purgatory. There is no irregularity here.” The angel’s unmoving countenance was more than a little unnerving.

“Oh, I see,” said P.T. “Well, if it isn’t here, where would it be?”

“If it is not here, then it must be inside.”

“Great!” P.T. started to move towards the archway. “So, is this the entrance here?”

“You may not enter,” the angel said sternly.

“Excuse me?”

“You may not enter.”

P.T. looked at us, his expression strained. I motioned for him to rejoin us.

“How are we supposed to close the gate if he won’t let us in?” he said when were huddled together again.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but there has to be a way in.”

“Perhaps at the top,” Claire offered.

I looked up. The mountain seemed to stretch on forever. “Worth a shot, I suppose.”

We stepped back, and tested our wings. Claire was the first to lift up. I followed soon after with P.T. right behind me. The sensation of flight was somehow both exhilarating and natural, as though I had always known how and what it felt like despite having never done it.

We flew up high over the forest, but the peak stretched away from us, seeming further away every second. Claire stopped, using her wings to hover in place, and turned to peer out over the forest. P.T. and I stopped beside her and followed her gaze. A large boat was guiding in to the shore about where we found ourselves when we entered this world. A large cloaked figure steered its course, and it was filled with dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people.

“I don’t think this is working,” P.T. said, looking up once again.

“No,” I said in agreement. “Let’s head back down.”

We flew back down and landed near the angel upon the throne.

“Okay, what do we do know?” I asked.

Claire and P.T. glanced at one another, their brows furrowed in thought.

“Hang on,” P.T. said after a moment. “Let me talk to this guy some more.”

He approached the angel again, but this time it didn’t greet him.

“Hello again,” P.T. said, a bit awkwardly. “I was wondering. How did you perceive us when we first arrived on your shores?”

“You were not there, and then you were,” came the reply.

“Uh huh,” P.T. said. “Interesting. You called us Guardians. A man in the woods called us Deities. Which is correct?”

“You are Guardians.”

“Great.” P.T. was rubbing at his chin. “Are Guardians allowed to enter Heaven?”

“Yes.”

“May we enter?”

“No.”

P.T.’s face scrunched in thought.

“How does a Guardian learn to enter Heaven?”

“Speak to the kings of old.”

“Ah,” P.T. exclaimed in triumph. “Thank you, uh, sir.”

He rejoined us at the edge of the forest.

“You get all that?” he asked.

Claire and I nodded.

“Good. What does it mean?”

“I suspect he’s referring to Manfred, or others like him,” I said.

“Manfred’s kind of annoying,” Claire said. “What about those people on the boat?”

“Sure.” I couldn’t argue the point. “Let’s go see what they have to say.”

We turned back into the forest, back towards the shore where we hoped to find our answers waiting for us.

Chapter Three – The Kings of Old

More people were crowding into the forest, filling the gaps between the trees, with the thickest gathering near the shores. We had to push our way through dozens of people arguing with each other over how poor they each were as rulers and the laws that had put in place in order to reach the boat. They ignored us as we pushed past, with the only recognition of our passing being the occasional grunt at being shoved back before they went back to arguing.

Still more people continued to disembark, arguing among each other while the cloaked navigator stood stoically by. He was taller than the angel on the throne, but most of his features were otherwise covered by the dark robe he wore. A pair of blue orb-like eyes peered out from beneath the cowl of his robe.

P.T. walked up to him. “Excuse me,” he said, gesturing towards the crowd. “Could you tell me if these are the kings of old?”

“These are the dregs of the kings of old.” The angel’s voice resonated out as it might if he were in a cave, and he didn’t move as he spoke.

“Where might we find the real ones?” P.T. asked.

“Not in anti-purgatory,” the angel’s voice boomed in response.

P.T. looked back at us, but all I could do was shrug and gesture for him to continue.

“Do you know how we might be able to enter Purgatory?”

“You must find an indulgence.”

As the echo of his answer faded away, the last of the people disembarked, and the robed angel stepped back onto the ship and pushed off. P.T. seemed about to ask another question, but thought better of it, and returned to us.

“An indulgence,” he said. “What does he mean by that?”

“I think an indulgence is something people used to gain favors in the after life,” I said, looking to Claire for confirmation, but she just shrugged.

“Okay, so, like, currency then,” P.T. reasoned.

“Right,” I said. “That’s why we need to speak to the kings. The most powerful people are the most likely to have such things.”

“Great,” P.T. said. “So, how do we find one?”

We scanned the bickering crowd, but none of them seemed likely to be of any use.

“Maybe one of the ones in the forest,” Claire offered.

“Yea, but which one?” My mind raced through the memory of those we saw in the woods. None of them stood out as anything special, though. I slammed my fist against the palm of my other hand in frustration. “Bah! We don’t have time for this.”

“Alright, deep breath, boss,” P.T. said, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s think about this. No one here seems legit. Who would be? Who might we find in a place like this?”

I tried to block out the sounds of the people around us, but nothing came to mind. My frustration was building once again, and then Claire’s voice broke through the haze of my thoughts.

“What about Mary?”

I looked at her. “Who?”

“Queen Mary the First, daughter of Henry the Eighth. She was highly religious, so she would probably want to get into Heaven, but she also had a lot of people killed so she would have a lot of sins to atone for.”

“Oh,” I said, impressed by Claire’s sudden insight. “That’s a great idea. She certainly could be here, but where?”

Claire turned towards the forest and pointed somewhere to the left of the path. “That way,” she said.

I furrowed my brow, and followed the line of her pointed finger. “How do you know?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just started thinking about her, and suddenly I had this sense of where she was.”

P.T. and I exchanged glances of surprise and hope. “Alright, then,” I said. “Lead the way.”

Claire led us back onto the forest trail, and after just a few minutes of walking turned off to the left, followed a narrow, beaten path. We soon found ourselves in a grove where a red-haired woman sat atop a large rock while a crowd stood below crying for her attention and favor despite her apparent lack of interest.

She looked up at us as we entered the grove, and her eyes sparkled with interest. With a hush, her people quieted, and all eyes turned on us as we pushed our way through the crowd.

“Greetings, human,” I said, trying to sound impressive. “Are you Queen Mary?”

“I am,” she said. “There are three of you.” She raised one eyebrow in apparent surprise, but didn’t seem alarmed.

“Why are you still here?” I asked, ignoring the inferred question.

She smirked, as though she knew something I didn’t. “The more relevant question, I think, is why are you here?”

My eyes narrowed, unsure of how to answer her.

“I suspect you want something from me, as many do,” she said, waving towards the gathered crowd. “Well, spit it out, then. I don’t have all day, you know.”

P.T. elbowed me in the back to keep going. “Very well,” I said. “We are here for a writ of indulgence.”

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “Ah, yes. I can provide you with one of those, naturally, but I would need something in return.”

I felt my stomach knot with regret.

“Life is dangerous in these woods,” she said, “even for someone such as myself. For such a writ, I require two hours of protection.”

I spared a glance back to my companions, both of whom nodded in agreement. “Very well,” I said at last.

With that, Mary motioned for one of her underlings to join her, and she instructed him to write up a contract.

“What dangers should we expect?”

Mary shrugged. “Could be anything, really. Nasty place, this forest.”

Once the contract was drawn up, we signed and took up defensive positions around the grove.

Chapter Four – The Redeemably Prideful

While we waited, other kings and queens arrived, all seemingly subservient to the charismatic Mary. Near the end of our two hour stint there was a rustling of leaves and a large snake with spikes protruding around it’s hooded head emerged from the underbrush.

P.T. reacted first, pulling an object from his pocket that looked similar to a die and threw it at the snake, hitting it square in the face. The snake hissed in anger and slithered up next to him. I pulled out a wand from where I would have expected my gun to be, aimed it at the creature, and fired a blast of orange energy, missing wildly.

Claire stepped up with her sword and slashed, but the snake dodged and lunged at P.T. with a gaping maw and swallowed him in one bite. I tried to line up another shot, but the snake swatted my wand away with its tail then lashed out at Claire, nearly knocking her to the ground. With the wand out of reach, I found a rock instead, and heaved it at the snake. My aim was just a bit off, but proved close enough to provide a distraction for Claire to sink her sword into the snake’s scales, staggering it.

It recovered quickly, and tried to sink its teeth into Claire, but she dodged out of the way and I took the opportunity to smash it with another rock. It collapsed to the ground, seemingly dead, and a moment later, P.T. slid out of its mouth covered in disgusting goop. We spent the remainder of our required time tending to our wounds, and getting P.T. cleaned up, then bid farewell to Mary and made our way back to the angel on the throne.

Upon handing him our writ of indulgence, he granted us entry into the first level of Purgatory, and we soon found ourselves inside a dark cavern with one small light source filtering in from the distance. The ceiling was jagged rock, ranging from five to ten feet above our head, but the passage was wide enough we couldn’t quite make out the edges. Climbing up the stone ramp to the level above were a large group of hunched over figures carrying boulders upon their backs and murmuring about pride. Upon a closer look, the boulders appeared to be melded into their skin.

Recalling a distant memory of the studies of my youth, I suspected these people were known as the redeemable who must atone for their pride by staring at their own feet in a permanent position of obeisance. My thoughts were interrupted as a large group broke free and began shambling toward us like a swarming mob.

Claire leaped forward and tried to push one of them down, but he proved surprisingly stable and pushed her back, almost knocking her down. In desperation, Claire lunged forward again, this time knocking him down. P.T. used the opening to escape the crush, but I wasn’t as quick and fell to the ground under the swarming mob.

Acting quickly to avoid being trampled, I regained my footing, but maintained a hunched position, trying to blend in. It seemed to work, and I slipped out of the throng and away from danger into pitch blackness. Claire cried out in panic, but before I could do anything to help her, a strange vision crossed my mind’s eye.

I watched myself descend into darkness, the walls covered in the webs of giant spiders, then the vision faded. I felt certain we needed to go downwards.

“Claire! P.T.! Head down!” I sneaked past the crowd, feeling my way past them in the dark, and followed the trail until I stumbled into Claire.

On a sudden inspiration, I pulled out my wand and willed it to light up. It pushed back the darkness to reveal Claire, her face dirty and scratched, but otherwise seemingly unharmed. “Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded affirmatively. P.T. joined us a moment later, and he do had survived the mob relatively unscathed.

We made our way down the ramp to the lower levels, passing more sinners along the way. Their numbers thinned the deeper we went until finally there were none left and we found ourselves at an intersection of four corridors below Purgatory.

One direction glowed with the light of a distant fire. From it emerged a hulking creature similar to the one we fought in the warehouse in Santa Monica. The creature nodded at us in seeming recognition, then continued its way up the ramp towards the level of Pride. Opposite our position was a light-less corridor stretching into darkness. To our right was a passage filled with cobwebs that descended further under the mountain.

Remembering the vision, I pointed at the cobwebs. “Can your sword cut through that?” I asked Claire.

Without answering, Claire hefted her sword, and began slicing through the webbing like butter. She led the way, tearing through the webs with abandon until we reached a large cavern with cocoons hanging from the ceiling and an open wardrobe against the wall, a swirling prismatic portal inside.

The sound of groaning filtered through the webbing from the opposite side of the chamber, and we looked to see another angel stuck in the webs next to the far exit. Claire stepped up and used her sword to free him.

He fell to his knees, and took a moment to catch his breath. “Thank you,” he said. “Are you from the Institute?”

“We are from Earth,” P.T. said. “We are here to close the inapposite gate.”

“What do you know about it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Not much, really. Just that it let a demon, or something, through to our side.”

He frowned and nodded. “To close it, you will need the key from Arachne, but be careful. She has been modified. When you get it, do not enter the gate. Perform the same ritual you used to get here. When you return to Earth, log into Ardeyn and seek the estate faction. There you will find Sir Carbury. He can help you.”

Before we could ask questions, he cast a spell and disappeared.

“Arachne?” The name sounded familiar to me. “Wasn’t she the one turned into a spider by Athena?”

“I think you’re right,” Claire said. “They had a weaving contest, I think, and Arachne won. She swelled with pride, and Athena punished her by turning her into a spider, and sending her….well, here I guess.”

“Well, whoever she is, she has our key, right?” P.T. said. “The sooner we get that, the sooner we can get out of here.”

Chapter Five – Arachne, the Damned

Claire set to work once again, slicing through the webbing with her sword until we reached the next chamber. As we entered, a large bulk covered in liquid metal plating stirred on the far end. Arachne rose, and we could see her legs had been replaced with sword blades.

“Foul Guardians, what brings you to my realm?” Her voice was loud and harsh, hurting our ears.

P.T. stepped forward. “We seek the key.”

“You shall not have it!” she shrieked. “The opening serves my purpose, destroying the creations of the gods.”

“Shouldn’t you attack the gods if you are so mad at them?” Claire asked.

Arachne laughed, and launched webbing at us, catching us by surprise. Claire quickly broke free while Arachne began her laborious approach.

I tried to pry myself loose, but another vision hit me like a ton of bricks. Darkness stretched on for eternity before me, and Arachne was there, her body being hacked to pieces and reforming over and over again. Her cries of pain echoed in my brain, made worse only by the destruction of Purgatory. The vision faded, and I fell into unconsciousness. What seemed like mere moments later, I was jostled awake to see Claire kneeling over me. I was no longer contained within the webbing.

“I can’t find the key anywhere,” Clarie said, panic in her voice.

The fog in my mind cleared, and I could see Arachne approaching.

“She must have swallowed it,” I said. “We’ll have to kill her.”

Claire nodded, and stood, sword in hand. I stood beside her, and drew out my wand.

P.T. retreated as Arachne slammed her blade-like legs into the ground where he once stood. “Don’t attack me,” he said. “They’re the dangerous ones.”

I shot him a withering glance, but he didn’t see it. Arachne, apparently convinced of his claims, turned toward us. Claire charged forward, slicing with her sword, but missing. I moved to the side and fired a shot with my wand, but my aim was still off.

From there it was chaos as we exchanged blows, Claire attacking with her sword and me firing off blast after blast from my wand. Some hit, some missed. Arachne hissed every time, and assaulted Claire with abandon, only slightly distracted by P.T.’s furious antics of waving his arms and shouting insults. Claire’s legs took the brunt, as streaks of blood flowed freely from her thighs, but she fought on, seemingly unaware of the wounds.

Finally, a blast from my wand took out one of Arachne’s leg. She shrieked in pain, and Claire stepped forward to take advantage of the momentary lapse by driving her sword into Arachne’s throat. Her shriek turned into a gargle and she collapsed to the floor, her last breath drawn like the last vestiges of a bubbling brook.

With a determined look in her eye, Claire hacked into the beast. It took several minutes of work before we found the key. P.T. grabbed it, and retreating back towards the wardrobe. I tried to take a look at Claire’s wounds, but she refused and pushed forward.

Back at the wardrobe, we performed the ritual once again, this time with the key. A short time later, we arrived back on Earth. It felt strange returning to our normal bodies, almost more difficult than changing into angels in the first place. To make matters worse, smoke filled the room of the auction house, and fire blazed all around. Coughing and sputtering, we stood up and searched for a way out.

Scanning the room, I spotted an opening above the wardrobe, and pointed it out to the others. P.T. quickly clambered up, and peered out.

“I hear sirens,” he shouted over the crackle of fire. Then there was a roar from the other side of the room, and his face turned pale. “And a demon.”

Claire tried to follow him up, but slipped and fell. She fell into unconsciousness, but I was at her side in a heartbeat to wake her. A coil of rope was peeking out of her backpack. I grabbed it, and threw it up to P.T., who quickly secured it. I helped Claire to her feet, and handed her the rope. Just as she began to climb, a window burst, sending a spray of glass into P.T., and the wardrobe came crashing down. I scrambled out of the way, and dove under a table. Claire dodged the falling wardrobe and clambered up the rope.

Peering through the flames at the demon, I could see he was covered in flames, but they seemed to grow from him rather then be burning him. He leaped down and stared intently in my direction. Claire called out from the window, drawing his attention, and it chased after her. She, P.T. and the demon disappeared through the window.

Crawling out from under the table, I reached for the rope, but at my touch it came tumbling down, the flames having eaten through it. I turned away and tried to make my way through the flames, but they were too much. I was surrounded.

There was a loud crash, and water poured in through the window. Swept up in the wave, I stumbled and slammed my head against the table. The room spun around me as I tried to crawl towards the door. The flames roared back, recovered from the momentary setback of the rushing water, and just as it seemed I would be swallowed up by their hunger, the door kicked open and several figures in yellow and brown fire suits rushed in with hoses, quieting the flames. I collapsed into a heap, and felt a pair of strong hands reach under my arms and pull me away just before the darkness engulfed me.