His Private Hell - Chapter 123: Chapter 123
You are reading His Private Hell, Chapter 123: Chapter 123. Read more chapters of His Private Hell.
The city didn’t sleep that night.
Not because of war.
Because of sound.
It started as a pulse—too low for human ears but deep enough to unsettle dogs, newborns, and anyone with buried sin. The kind of vibration that made bones ache. That made past mistakes bubble back to the surface and crawl beneath the skin like guilt with claws.
It was Lazarus.
And the Second Choir had begun to wake.
Eella felt it before she saw anything.
She was standing at the edge of the roof, barefoot, wearing nothing but a white shirt that wasn’t hers. It clung to her like silence. Her body didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t blink. But deep inside her, something opened its mouth and began to sing back.
A harmony of destruction.
She turned her face to the wind.
Below her, the city cracked.
One streetlight shattered. Then another.
Glass rained like glitter.
And in the distance, something groaned.
Something older than god.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” a voice whispered.
Astrid.
But she wasn’t alone.
Darcie stood beside her.
For the first time.
Alive. Terrible. More shadow than flesh. Her eyes were white holes, her voice barely more than a hum.
“You,” Eella breathed. “You’re real.”
Darcie stepped forward.
“You always knew I was.”
Eella took a step back.
But she didn’t run.
She couldn’t.
The song in her blood wouldn’t let her.
Darcie raised one hand.
“Let me in.”
Eella clenched her jaw. “No.”
Darcie smiled. “Too late.”
The moment the words hit the air, sound erupted from Eella’s chest like an explosion in reverse. A force that pulled instead of pushed. It dragged the air out of the sky, stole the screams from the streets, and cracked the rooftop beneath her.
She collapsed.
But it wasn’t pain.
It was release.
Darcie knelt beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead.
“You’ve been fighting your hunger. But it’s not hunger, baby girl.”
She leaned in closer.
“It’s inheritance.”
Eella screamed.
And the city screamed with her.
—
Garrison woke to blood in his mouth.
Not his.
Not this time.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember lying on the floor. But when he opened his eyes, the walls were shaking and the windows had shattered.
Sasha stood over him, bleeding from her nose.
“She’s waking up,” she said. “And you need to decide which side you’re on.”
He stood, wiping blood from his lips. “There’s no side. There’s only her.”
Sasha stepped back. “Then you’re already lost.”
She left before he could speak again.
He ran.
—
The streets were chaos.
Not riots. Not fire. Worse.
Silence.
The kind of silence that happened when every sound had been eaten.
People wandered in circles, clutching their ears, bleeding from their eyes. Music no longer played. Engines refused to start. Phones shattered in palms, howling with feedback and sparks.
The Choir wasn’t performing.
They were consuming.
And at the center of it—
Eella.
She stood in the square where the first Choir had once risen, her body soaked with something that might’ve been sweat or rain or something darker. Her eyes weren’t just open—they were glowing.
Garrison reached her through the dead crowd.
“Eella—”
She turned.
And he stopped.
Because it wasn’t just her.
It was Darcie.
Behind her. Inside her. Around her.
A thousand layers of woman, weapon, and song. All pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
“Eella, fight her.”
But Eella didn’t move.
Darcie tilted her head.
“You think this is possession?”
Garrison clenched his fists.
“Don’t speak through her.”
“She’s not a vessel,” Darcie said. “She’s a mirror.”
And then—
Eella laughed.
But it wasn’t cruel.
It was free.
Like someone who finally understood the joke that everyone else had missed.
“I’m not possessed,” she said. “I’m whole.”
Garrison stepped forward. “Then choose.”
“Choose what?”
He didn’t answer.
He reached for her.
And for a moment, the wind stopped.
Then her hand touched his chest.
And pushed.
He flew.
Thirty feet backward. Crashed through a car windshield. And still he tried to stand.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she said.
He wiped blood from his mouth. “You already did.”
—
Darcie waited until he was gone before speaking again.
“You’re ready.”
Eella turned slowly.
“Then let’s burn everything.”
Darcie’s smile widened.
And somewhere beneath the street, Lazarus closed his eyes and said the name that would end the world.
“Three.”
—
Astrid watched the stars disappear.
Not because of clouds.
Because of sound.
The air was heavy now. Full of vibrations not meant for humans. The atmosphere was buckling. Like lungs filled with concrete. Like sky about to shatter.
She stood alone in the chamber of strings—where Lazarus had first taught her pain. Where sound had first become a weapon.
She hummed a single note.
Low. Minor. Pure.
And the walls began to crack.
She whispered to no one, “It’s time.”
—
In the deep silence of the outer city, a group of engineers tried to reboot a power grid that no longer responded.
Inside the center of their makeshift hub was a young woman in a lab coat, covered in ink.
She was deaf.
And she was the last person who hadn’t heard the song.
Her name was Eva.
And she was Lazarus’s contingency.
But tonight?
She stopped writing.
Because the silence had finally reached her hands.
—
Eella stood at the top of the bridge.
The same bridge where she’d once considered throwing herself off, before Garrison had found her, bruised and wasted, humming a melody she didn’t know she’d learned.
That girl was dead now.
Not murdered.
Evolved.
She spread her arms wide.
And sang.
The bridge trembled.
Water rose in answer.
Every building in a five-block radius cracked, and the air around her burned cold.
Darcie stood behind her, hands raised.
The Second Choir circled them like angels made of ash and flesh, their mouths stitched shut but still resonating.
Eella’s voice crescendoed.
And then she stopped.
Because someone was walking across the bridge.
Slowly.
Limping.
Bleeding.
Garrison.
“I told you,” he said softly, “I’m not letting you go.”
She frowned.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I’m not here to stop you.”
He knelt.
“I’m here to sing with you.”
Darcie’s head snapped toward him. “You what?”
Garrison looked up.
“I’m done being afraid.”
He opened his mouth.
And sang.
It wasn’t beautiful.
It wasn’t trained.
But it was true.
And for a second, just a second, Eella’s song faltered.
Because her heart remembered him.
Because her body remembered.
And that one heartbeat of hesitation?
Was enough.
Darcie screamed.
The Choir trembled.
And Astrid pulled the final lever in the chamber of strings.
Everything collapsed.
—
There was no sound.
Only light.
And then—
Darkness.
Not because of war.
Because of sound.
It started as a pulse—too low for human ears but deep enough to unsettle dogs, newborns, and anyone with buried sin. The kind of vibration that made bones ache. That made past mistakes bubble back to the surface and crawl beneath the skin like guilt with claws.
It was Lazarus.
And the Second Choir had begun to wake.
Eella felt it before she saw anything.
She was standing at the edge of the roof, barefoot, wearing nothing but a white shirt that wasn’t hers. It clung to her like silence. Her body didn’t shake. Her eyes didn’t blink. But deep inside her, something opened its mouth and began to sing back.
A harmony of destruction.
She turned her face to the wind.
Below her, the city cracked.
One streetlight shattered. Then another.
Glass rained like glitter.
And in the distance, something groaned.
Something older than god.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” a voice whispered.
Astrid.
But she wasn’t alone.
Darcie stood beside her.
For the first time.
Alive. Terrible. More shadow than flesh. Her eyes were white holes, her voice barely more than a hum.
“You,” Eella breathed. “You’re real.”
Darcie stepped forward.
“You always knew I was.”
Eella took a step back.
But she didn’t run.
She couldn’t.
The song in her blood wouldn’t let her.
Darcie raised one hand.
“Let me in.”
Eella clenched her jaw. “No.”
Darcie smiled. “Too late.”
The moment the words hit the air, sound erupted from Eella’s chest like an explosion in reverse. A force that pulled instead of pushed. It dragged the air out of the sky, stole the screams from the streets, and cracked the rooftop beneath her.
She collapsed.
But it wasn’t pain.
It was release.
Darcie knelt beside her, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead.
“You’ve been fighting your hunger. But it’s not hunger, baby girl.”
She leaned in closer.
“It’s inheritance.”
Eella screamed.
And the city screamed with her.
—
Garrison woke to blood in his mouth.
Not his.
Not this time.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember lying on the floor. But when he opened his eyes, the walls were shaking and the windows had shattered.
Sasha stood over him, bleeding from her nose.
“She’s waking up,” she said. “And you need to decide which side you’re on.”
He stood, wiping blood from his lips. “There’s no side. There’s only her.”
Sasha stepped back. “Then you’re already lost.”
She left before he could speak again.
He ran.
—
The streets were chaos.
Not riots. Not fire. Worse.
Silence.
The kind of silence that happened when every sound had been eaten.
People wandered in circles, clutching their ears, bleeding from their eyes. Music no longer played. Engines refused to start. Phones shattered in palms, howling with feedback and sparks.
The Choir wasn’t performing.
They were consuming.
And at the center of it—
Eella.
She stood in the square where the first Choir had once risen, her body soaked with something that might’ve been sweat or rain or something darker. Her eyes weren’t just open—they were glowing.
Garrison reached her through the dead crowd.
“Eella—”
She turned.
And he stopped.
Because it wasn’t just her.
It was Darcie.
Behind her. Inside her. Around her.
A thousand layers of woman, weapon, and song. All pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
“Eella, fight her.”
But Eella didn’t move.
Darcie tilted her head.
“You think this is possession?”
Garrison clenched his fists.
“Don’t speak through her.”
“She’s not a vessel,” Darcie said. “She’s a mirror.”
And then—
Eella laughed.
But it wasn’t cruel.
It was free.
Like someone who finally understood the joke that everyone else had missed.
“I’m not possessed,” she said. “I’m whole.”
Garrison stepped forward. “Then choose.”
“Choose what?”
He didn’t answer.
He reached for her.
And for a moment, the wind stopped.
Then her hand touched his chest.
And pushed.
He flew.
Thirty feet backward. Crashed through a car windshield. And still he tried to stand.
“Don’t make me hurt you,” she said.
He wiped blood from his mouth. “You already did.”
—
Darcie waited until he was gone before speaking again.
“You’re ready.”
Eella turned slowly.
“Then let’s burn everything.”
Darcie’s smile widened.
And somewhere beneath the street, Lazarus closed his eyes and said the name that would end the world.
“Three.”
—
Astrid watched the stars disappear.
Not because of clouds.
Because of sound.
The air was heavy now. Full of vibrations not meant for humans. The atmosphere was buckling. Like lungs filled with concrete. Like sky about to shatter.
She stood alone in the chamber of strings—where Lazarus had first taught her pain. Where sound had first become a weapon.
She hummed a single note.
Low. Minor. Pure.
And the walls began to crack.
She whispered to no one, “It’s time.”
—
In the deep silence of the outer city, a group of engineers tried to reboot a power grid that no longer responded.
Inside the center of their makeshift hub was a young woman in a lab coat, covered in ink.
She was deaf.
And she was the last person who hadn’t heard the song.
Her name was Eva.
And she was Lazarus’s contingency.
But tonight?
She stopped writing.
Because the silence had finally reached her hands.
—
Eella stood at the top of the bridge.
The same bridge where she’d once considered throwing herself off, before Garrison had found her, bruised and wasted, humming a melody she didn’t know she’d learned.
That girl was dead now.
Not murdered.
Evolved.
She spread her arms wide.
And sang.
The bridge trembled.
Water rose in answer.
Every building in a five-block radius cracked, and the air around her burned cold.
Darcie stood behind her, hands raised.
The Second Choir circled them like angels made of ash and flesh, their mouths stitched shut but still resonating.
Eella’s voice crescendoed.
And then she stopped.
Because someone was walking across the bridge.
Slowly.
Limping.
Bleeding.
Garrison.
“I told you,” he said softly, “I’m not letting you go.”
She frowned.
“You can’t stop me.”
“I’m not here to stop you.”
He knelt.
“I’m here to sing with you.”
Darcie’s head snapped toward him. “You what?”
Garrison looked up.
“I’m done being afraid.”
He opened his mouth.
And sang.
It wasn’t beautiful.
It wasn’t trained.
But it was true.
And for a second, just a second, Eella’s song faltered.
Because her heart remembered him.
Because her body remembered.
And that one heartbeat of hesitation?
Was enough.
Darcie screamed.
The Choir trembled.
And Astrid pulled the final lever in the chamber of strings.
Everything collapsed.
—
There was no sound.
Only light.
And then—
Darkness.
End of His Private Hell Chapter 123. Continue reading Chapter 124 or return to His Private Hell book page.