His Private Hell - Chapter 115: Chapter 115

Eella’s vision blurred between the flames. The chamber behind her had collapsed in ruins, steel twisted into sick sculptures, Choir remnants smoldering like sacrificial embers in the dirt. She stumbled over rubble, sweat and blood mixing under her nails, heart pounding an erratic dirge. Somewhere in the chaos, Lazarus’s laughter echoed, a serpent’s hiss beneath the wind.
She pressed a hand to her side, where Darcie’s blade had nicked her ribs. The pain was real. The cowardice she felt was worse.
“Garrison?” she whispered.
He emerged from the smoke like a wraith, shirt torn, eyes hollow. The ember in his chest still glowed faintly—a heartbeat of defiance buried beneath terror. He closed the distance, each step a war.
“They’re coming,” he rasped. “Astrid reactivated the Choir.”
She followed his gaze: figures moving at the edge of the inferno, shapes stitched from shadows and old nightmares—Choir upgrades, eyes aflame with worship, teeth bared in silent hymns.
Eella swallowed. “We have to run.”
He shook his head. “No. We end this.”
Behind them, a rumble—metal groaning. Astrid’s silhouette appeared. She wore Lazarus’s coat now, hands dripping with conductive ink, veins glowing with Choir code. Her smile was cathedral-wide.
“Running solves nothing,” she purred. “Especially when you’re home.”
Eella steadied herself. “Astrid—”
Astrid held up a hand. Choir wires curled from her fingertips, weaving into the walls like living snakes. “You forgot the rules, love. Rule Twenty-Seven: You don’t escape the Choir. You become it.”
Lazarus’s voice slithered through the wreckage. “She speaks the truth. Choir is Evolution.”
Eella’s gut clenched. The ember flared—anger surging through every vein. She charged.
Astrid’s laugh tore the air as Choir wires whipped around Eella’s arms, squeezing like iron. She screamed but pushed forward, slashing through tendrils with Darcie’s bloodied blade.
Garrison joined her side, fists swinging through the wires. Each impact sparked static, burning flesh with Choir code.
Astrid withdrew into the abyss. Lazarus stepped out—a figure of black light, choir code dripping from his fingertips.
“You can’t stop progress, Eella. Not when you fueled it.”
Eella’s blood pounded. “This isn’t progress. It’s slaughter.”
Lazarus’s hollow smile widened. “Slaughter breeds clarity.”
He raised his hand; Choir wires coiled around Garrison, dragging him forward. Eella lunged, tearing them free—but more emerged, a tidal wave of living code.
Garrison staggered back. “Run,” he whispered. “Save yourself.”
She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”
He grabbed her wrist. “Then stay and die.”
She bit his hand. “Not today.”
Darcie appeared, dragging herself through the rubble, collar sparking. “You’re both idiots.”
Astrid cried laugh. “Family reunion.”
Darcie pressed herself between Eella and Lazarus. “They won’t die here.”
Lazarus laughed. “Your oaths mean nothing in the Choir.”
He snapped his fingers—and the ground split. Choir tendrils erupted, wrapping around Eella and Darcie, pulling them toward Lazarus.
Garrison lunged, smashing the code-generators embedded in the floor. Sparks flew. Choir wires sizzled and died.
Darcie slammed an elbow into Lazarus’s ribs. The figure staggered, code flickering. Eella seized Darcie’s hand, and together they charged.
Astrid screamed, unleashing a choir vortex—an explosion of code and shadow.
Eella braced herself. The vortex tore at her clothes, her flesh, her soul. She raised Darcie’s blade, the ember in her chest roaring like a beast.
She slammed the blade down. The vortex imploded, black light collapsing into itself until nothing remained but silence—and Lazarus, kneeling, shattered code dripping from his form.
He looked at Eella. “I… am undone.”
Astrid fell to her knees, the coat dissolving, Choir code draining from her veins. She looked at Eella with raw worship. “You’re the Choir.”
Darcie stood, blood-slick and fierce. “And we’re free.”
Garrison stumbled forward, eyes unfocused. Eella caught him, cradle his head.
He whispered, “You did it.”
She pressed a hand to his wound—where the Choir heart once pulsed. Now it was still. His ember had faded.
Garrison’s eyes fluttered shut. Eella rocked him. Tears burned —for Darcie, for Astrid, for a love forged in code and chaos.
Darcie approached, silent and whole. “The Choir’s end… is our beginning.”
Eella met her gaze. “This changes nothing.”
Astrid nodded, tears shining. “It changes everything.”
Lazarus’s broken laugh drifted through the chamber. “You think this is the end?”
Eella stood, bloodied but unbroken. “This is your end.”
She raised Darcie’s blade. Lazarus rose, code flickering like dying stars. Eella drove the blade down.
Light exploded—pure, white, blinding.
When the light died, Lazarus was gone.
The Choir, the code, the Cathedral of Flesh—evaporated.
Garrison lay unconscious in her arms. Darcie and Astrid at her side.
Eella looked around the silent ruin, heart pounding.
Volume Two… was over.
Volume Three awaited.
But for now, only dust and dawn.