Friday, April 23, 1937.

2020 Hours.

Underground Tunnels.

We were lambs lead to the slaughterhouse.

Behind us, certain death awaited us; before us laid the unknown danger of darkness. Everything in between was pure agony.

I don't quite remember what happened between us running from the hall and facing what was ahead, but I do remember my heart smashing over and over again against my chest as we ran for our lives. Camarada was point, holding the torch in one hand and his revolver in the other, followed by Torito, still carrying Lula, and me in the back.

I felt the darkness staring at my back as the drums played louder and louder, only to begin their diminuendo to almost nothing, and that was worse. If I stopped, I would've died. We all would have. But we couldn't stop. Not even when our legs burned. Not even when our bodies wanted to give up.

We were not going to wait for death that day.

After five minutes, ten minutes, three seconds, or whatever time it actually was, which felt longer, we arrived at a hall. It was bigger than the previous two by a few dozen meters, and rectangular instead of oval. There was an unnatural glow to it, being brighter than a dank cave had any right to be.

It was full to the brim with tombstones. Old ones, new ones, and all adorned more ostentatiously than the next one. Old crosses with the image of Jesus in pain were on display on all walls. There was this layer of dust to the air that almost made me sneeze, were it not for the fact that I was frozen in fear by what we found in the hall.

Sitting in the middle, using the biggest tomb with a cross sticking out like a throne, was a beast. But it was not like the others. This beast didn't have a mask, but its entire body was made of the same off-white material that shimmered like metal. It wasn't burly and muscular, but rather skinny and lanky. It didn't move erratically and violent like the other beasts, preferring to move gracefully and with gravitas of importance.

It was beautiful, mesmerizing, even. Yet terrifying. It was a mixture of true peace and horror. Unfiltered horror.

I wanted to be washed away by the beast. I felt loved by it. Understood by it. Like if my sins and cowardice didn't matter in front of it.

Have you ever felt that? Because I'm having trouble explaining it. I've been a coward my whole life, and I've chosen the easy path almost every time I could. I let others fight my fights, which is something I'm not particularly proud to admit. The life of a craven, dear reader, is a lonely one and racked with guilt. We live to escape another day, but we never really live. We survive in cowardice.

We are not cold, nor hot, and so we are spit from the mouth of God.

But the beast understood me. It knew I was a coward and a craven, yet it loved me nonetheless. I've never felt the love I felt with it with anyone else. Not even Lula compared to the all-encompassing love of the beast.

Even being in its presence felt like a warm hug at the end of a hard day. I can't really describe it as anything but pure bliss.

I wanted to be with the beast.

I want it.

I wanted it.

I still want it. Now.

The feeling was so strong that I didn't notice the beasts had caught up with us, but they didn't attack us. They just stood next to us, staring us down.

Torito and Camarada were crying, and so was I. Not out of pain, or fear, but love. We were finally loved for who we were, and were forgiven for it. Lula fell from Torito's arm as he was swallowed by the beast's love.

Then, the beast rose one of his beautiful, skeletal hands, snapping its fingers. A lesser beast brought a man before it, still alive and squirming. The room was quiet as a tomb. Everyone was expecting to see what the beast would do.

Then, the beast took one of its slender, beautiful fingers, and pressed it against the man's forehead. I could clearly hear his skull tear apart as the finger went deep inside it, breaking sinew and skin. It was a wet, crunchy sound, followed by a deep scream by the man.

I remember thinking how lucky the man was, being one with the beast. I wanted that. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be useful.

The man shook from top to bottom as a white substance oozed from his brain outwards, covering his face in a thick, off-white layer. The mask. His arms and legs convulsed as they got impossibly bigger. In less than a second, what was a man was now beast. A new monster was born.

And I wanted to be next. To be useful.

The waiting was the worst part.

The beast looked at me with his piercing, tender eyes. I was the center of the universe for it. It filled me with bliss.

The beast raised a hand, beckoning me forward. I was next, I was finally next! I dropped my rifle in excitement as my mind was ready to become one with the monster. But I was stopped. Someone grabbed me by the arm. Father Jagger was behind me, shaking his head. He instead pushed Torito forwards.

The waiting was the worst part.

He looked incredulous, and so was I. Why would he be the first one to join the beast? I was envious, but happy for him. Lucky. He would find eternal bliss.

Waiting for the beast to notice me was the worst part.

Torito approached him with careful steps, likely fearful of making the loving beast mad with his impatience. Silly Torito, the beast didn't care about impatience. We were all its children.

As he stood in front of it, expecting to be one with it, I heard a sound. A gunshot, to be precise. It made my ears ring. It was enough to take me out of my stupor.

I looked down to the source of the sound. Lula held the still-smoking rifle in her hands, shooting with whichever energy she had left. She fainted a second later.

Her marksmanship was exceptional even in the brink of death, as the shot hit the beast straight in the eye.

The whole room trembled and the beast shrieked, making all the other beasts go berserker. They jumped, and ran, and rolled around the floor as their master suffered in pain. It was enough to snap us out of our stupor.

The beast itself clutched its head as it moved back and forth in ways a normal spine would break in half.

Father Jagger pushed me aside and jumped right in the middle of the room. He took two of those German pistols from inside his priest's cassock, pointing both at the beast. Each bullet glinted in the dark as they flew towards the beast. Instead of bouncing off the white mask, the bullets burrowed inside it, leaving a halo of light around the entry wounds. Needless to say, the beast didn't like it.

It took Father Jagger's head off with only one swipe from its hand.

It was time to escape.

Torito and Camarada didn't say a word, but we didn't need to communicate to know what to do. Torito grabbed Lula as I grabbed the rifle. With Camarada holding the torch, we ran like hell into a random tunnel.

"What now?" yelled Camarada.

"I don't fucking know!" yelled Torito. "I'm following you!"

"But I don't know where I'm going!" replied Camarada.

"Just move!" I said. I could hear the drums getting louder, then fainter, behind us. The beasts were approaching us.

And ran we did, until we hit a wall. It was a dead end.

"You fool! You doomed us all!" I said. It was the end for us. The wait was over.

But not for Torito.

He didn't say anything as he snatched Camarada's torch, much to the latter's fury.

He got close to the wall, close enough to light a few words that were etched in the wall.

EGO SVM PRINCIPIVM
MVNDI ET FINIS
SÆCLORVM ATTAMEN
NON SVM DEVS

I could recognize a few words there to know it was Latin, but I wasn't nearly fluent enough to try and decode it. However, Torito simple pushed something on the wall, and the whole thing opened up as if spring locked.

"I am the beginning of the world, and the end of the ages, but I am not God," said Torito. "World is Mundi, and sæculorum is ages. The beginning and the end is the letter M."

How did he know that, I didn't know, nor did I bother to ask. I could see the beasts approach us in the dark behind us.

We all ran through the open wall, closing it behind us. I heard a few beasts hit the wall, but it didn't budge.

We were out of the tunnels--we had survived.

For now.