His Private Hell - Chapter 109: Chapter 109

Eella woke to the taste of ash on her tongue. The bedroom was swathed in gray light, dust motes drifting through torn curtains like dying moths. Her body ached in places she didn’t know could bruise—hips, ribs, her throat—each mark a confession of the night before. Garrison’s side of the bed was cold and empty, his scent lingering on the pillow like a ghost refusing to move on.
She sat up, head swimming with fragmented images: Darcie’s stitched smile, the Choir’s drowning hymn, Luka’s final whisper. And the note—Meet me where you lost yourself. That phrase had tormented her all night, refused to fade with sleep.
Now it was morning, and the only thing she knew was she had to go back.
•
The elevator ride down was slow, deliberate. Floor by floor, the display counted backwards: 35…34…33. At thirty-three, she willed herself not to panic, to stay steady on her feet. The doors opened onto the sterile corridor she’d once called a tomb. This time, it wouldn’t kill her. It would break her. Mangle her into something useful.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Garrison:
Be careful. They know you’re coming.
She typed back one word.
Always.
•
The hidden panel slid open with her fingerprint. Inside, the hallway was darker than memory. Emergency lights flickered red, humming like wounded insects. She walked past the shattered monitors and the empty office where Darcie had once been held. Her boots echoed—alone, defiant.
At the far end, the steel door to the Choir chamber stood sealed. Steel veins traced in crimson. No keypad this time. Only a keycard slot. She pulled out Solomon’s card—the one Garrison had stolen from Lazarus’s archive—and slid it in. A hiss and the door swung open.
Inside was a cathedral of twisted metal and stone benches. Eight glass cells lined the walls, each containing a figure in rags, chains binding their wrists. Their heads bowed, voices throatily chanting in a language older than time. At the center, Darcie knelt on a dais, arms raised, collar glowing, eyes aflame.
She didn’t see Darcie’s cage. She saw Eella.
Darcie’s chant faltered when she looked up. The glass shattered, but the Choir’s song never stopped. Four of the cells snapped open; four empty shapes emerged, stepping toward her like shadows made flesh. Two men, two women—each body scarred, eyes reflecting her soul. The Choir had multiplied.
Darcie rose, that twisted béatific smile on her face. “Welcome back.”
Eella swallowed. “Why am I here?”
Darcie walked down the dais steps. The Choir parted like water, forming a corridor. “To finish what you started. To prove you’re worthy of the second Choir.”
“This isn’t a test,” Eella snapped. “It’s torture.”
Darcie’s voice dropped. “They aren’t the Choir yet. You are the key.” She gestured to the chanting shapes. “They’re waiting for you to give them a name.”
Eella spat. “I won’t be your vessel.”
Darcie’s laughter echoed. “No, darling. You already are.”
The Choir lunged. Four bodies pinned her arms—two each arm—and held her fast.
Darcie circled her, finger trailing a scar on Eella’s wrist. “Every Choir member must offer blood. Their own, willingly. Your sacrifice validates them. It makes them alive.”
Her heart pounded. “I’m not sacrificing anyone.”
Darcie’s eyes flickered. “You already have.”
Eella jerked free, ripping the Choir off her. They stumbled but didn’t fall. In their voices, the hymn turned into screams of anger.
Darcie’s robe swept the floor as she approached. “You killed Garrison’s soul. You let him turn to ash because of your fears.”
She shook her head. “He chose this.”
“He chose you. Now choose them.” Darcie raised her hand. “Or we burn the whole world down.”
Eella backed away, boots skidding on stone. The Choir advanced, a mass of trembling flesh and electric hunger. Eella’s gun was in her pocket, but she hesitated.
A whisper in her mind: Only one life saves them all.
She looked at Darcie. At Garrison’s note. At the Choir’s pitiful faces.
Their voices rose. Eella’s chest filled with desperate empathy.
She drew the gun. Not to kill. To cut—not a bullet, but a slash across her own palm.
Blood welled, thick and warm. The Choir recoiled, then surged, catching the drops on their tongues like communion.
Darcie’s eyes shone. “You’ve named them.”
One by one, the Choir’s wounds began to glow. Their chanting deepened—power blooming in their veins. They stepped back, armor of light and despair.
Darcie approached Eella, wiping blood from her palm. “The second Choir is born.”
Eella staggered. “What did I do?”
Darcie smiled, hands gentle. “You gave them purpose. And you freed me.”
With a snap of her fingers, the Choir’s bonds shattered. They knelt before Darcie, hands pressed to their hearts in reverence.
Eella sank to her knees. “Stop this.”
Darcie knelt, touching Eella’s cheek. “It’s too late.”
Outside, alarms blared. The corridor lights snapped from red to white.
Darcie rose. “They know you’re here. Garrison must have triggered every alarm.”
Eella looked at the Choir—now seven glowing figures clustered behind Darcie. “Then they’ll kill us.”
Darcie laughed. “My Choir doesn’t die.”
A roar shook the hall as Garrison barreled through the door, gun drawn.
“Eella!”
She scrambled to her feet. Darcie faced him, arms wide. “Welcome home.”
Garrison fired.
The bullet passed through air—time slowed—and struck Darcie in the chest. She staggered, a shock across her face, blood blooming on her robe.
The Choir howled.
Garrison cursed, rushing to Darcie. Eella knelt beside her. The bullet hole bled but didn’t kill. Darcie’s eyes glittered with triumph.
Eella shoved Garrison away. “No!”
Darcie laughed, blood mixing with her tears. “He freed me just like you freed the Choir.”
Garrison pressed his hands to the wound. “Stay with me.”
Darcie’s eyes closed. “This body… no longer matters.”
She smiled one last time, lips brushing Garrison’s. Then she dissolved—light and dust, released.
The Choir knelt, the hall crashing with the final chord of their hymn.
Eella’s hand fell to her belly—cold with fear and possibilities.
Garrison dropped to his knees beside her, crushing her to him.
“They can’t hurt me,” he whispered. “Not with you.”
Eella shook her head. “They can hurt us both.”
Behind them, the Choir rose, forming a silent wall between her and Garrison. Seven hollow figures, thirsty for purpose.
Eella looked at the horizon of broken stone and flickering lights.
She took a breath.
And stood.
“We finish this,” she said, voice steady as steel. “Here and now.”
Garrison rose, eyes blazing with devotion and dread.
The Choir advanced, chanting the name Eella in an endless echo.
She lifted her chin.
“Then let them.”
She raised a single hand.
The world held its breath.
And then, fire and teeth met destiny.