Church of the Good Omen

The church doors groan open beneath Edmund’s hand. Inside, dust lies undisturbed across the nave, and the younger cult member carries the unconscious visitor over the threshold.

A bell tolls once from above. The sound rolls through the rafters, though the belfry door remains visibly locked and its chain sealed with old wax.

The visitor’s limp body sags in her grasp. His shadow does not follow him; it stretches across the floor toward the bricked-up stairwell beneath the nave.

The binding beneath his skin gives a faint warmth, pulsing once through the cloth and into the stone. Somewhere below, something answers with a soft, hollow knock.

The bricked stairwell bears no visible entrance, only a faded iron cross and mortar darkened by age. Yet the visitor’s shadow reaches its lowest course of bricks.