Jeffrey Galler

Friendly.

If anyone were asked to describe Jeffrey Galler in one word, "friendly" would be the one most people would use. His nature made him the sort of man others could lean on without hesitation. Friendly, approachable, kind—Jeffrey was always there with a gentle smile and a hand outstretched in help. But behind that smile, behind the gentle demeanor that had earned him the adoration of his parish and the people he met, was something darker, something far more sinister.

His kindness? It bordered on obsessive. As though his very life depended on it. There was an unsettling undertone to his generosity, an over-earnestness that only those closest to him, few though they were, could perceive.

In truth, Jeffrey Galler had received two calls in his life.

The first came when he was just eighteen, when he smothered his father in his sleep. The suffocating pillow pressing against the man's face had been soft, merciful almost, but the rage in Jeffrey's heart was anything but. His father's drunken rages, the abuse he inflicted upon Jeffrey's mother—it had gone on for years. And in a single night, it ended. The man who had caused them so much pain was gone, and Jeffrey? He got away with it. No one ever suspected the boy with the angelic face. And he saved his mother from a lifetime of further abuse.

It was a victory. It felt like justice. But more than that, it felt right.

The second call came a few months later. Jeffrey had turned to the church, hoping to find solace for his dark deed. As he poured over the Bible, the words began to take on new meaning. It was in Genesis, chapters 6 and 7, where Jeffrey found his justification, his divine validation. God had looked down upon mankind and, disgusted by their wickedness, decided to cleanse the earth. The Great Flood, the extermination of all life—every man, woman, child, and animal, save for Noah and his family, had perished in unimaginable agony. And this, the Bible declared, was righteous.

Wasn't that what Jeffrey had done? Purged the wickedness in his own home?

As the days passed, more passages stood out to him, confirming what he already knew in his heart. Exodus, 2:12—when Moses saw an Egyptian beating a Hebrew slave, he looked around, and seeing no witnesses, "killed the Egyptian and hid him in the sand." No hesitation, no guilt. Just a necessary act.

And again, in Exodus 32:27, when the people turned to idolatry, God did not hesitate. He commanded the sons of Levi: "Each of you put on your sword, go back and forth through the camp, killing your brother, friend, and neighbor." And the sons of Levi obeyed. "That day, about three thousand men died," and the Bible was clear—God was pleased.

This was justice. This was righteousness. The divine mandate was clear. When evil arises, it must be cut down. The righteous need not fear bloodshed, for their hands are guided by God Himself.

As Jeffrey meditated on these passages, he began to feel a deeper sense of purpose. He was no longer just a man. He was an instrument of divine will, called to carry out the holy work that others could not. And when Judgment Day finally came, when the earth itself was scorched by catastrophe, Jeffrey understood what he had to do. The second call had been clear. He had been chosen.

Numbers 16:27-33—When men rebelled against God's appointed, the ground opened up and swallowed them whole. Men, women, children, all consumed by the earth for their insolence. For their disobedience.

Jeffrey began to pray with every death. With every life snuffed out, his prayers grew longer, more fervent. And with every prayer, his power grew. This was the divine plan. This was his task.

And Jeffrey took to it with the same enthusiasm that had once made him so friendly, so beloved. Every soul that fell before him was another stone laid on the path of righteousness.

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The church stood as a stark monument to a bygone world. It was still there, though weathered and scarred by the cataclysm that had shaken the earth. An enormous nave with a coffered ceiling greeted the group as they entered. Cold. Austere. Empty pews stretched toward the apse, as though the congregation had fled moments before. But what was once a house of worship had become something else entirely.

No crucifix stood in the apse. Or rather, there was no complete one. The top of the cross had shattered, leaving only a decapitated body, an eerie reflection of the carnage outside. This was no longer a place of refuge, but a battlefield's scar, a remnant of a massacre.

"During Judgment Day mass, there was an outbreak," a voice echoed through the cold space. "The boss did that."

John turned toward the sound, his hand instinctively going to the weapon strapped to his side. But the voice belonged to someone familiar.

"Oh! Good evening, Father Jeffrey," Grace greeted the man, her voice tinged with surprise, though not fear.

"Good evening," the priest replied, his tone as warm as ever.

"'Evening!" Kevin echoed, nodding in acknowledgment.

"Good evening to you too, kids," Jeffrey said, his usual smile playing on his lips as he gently patted Grace on the head.

He gazed at the trio, his eyes lingering on Grace for just a moment longer than the others.

Hmm... Florist... Not sure how useful she'll be to me.

His smile didn't waver, but his thoughts raced. He had plans, after all, and every individual had their place within it.

"Good! The dinner is almost ready... Follow me!" he called out cheerfully, his voice belying the darkness that had long since settled in his soul.

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Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

The silence was broken as cracks spread through the stone floor, snaking outward from beneath the throne. The sound was like bones snapping, an eerie prelude to the chaos to come.

"Let's go," Noah commanded, his voice cold and unyielding as ever.

Before them, a black abyss stretched out, as though the earth itself had split open to reveal the void beneath. The hole seemed endless, a chasm without a bottom. From within it, only incomprehensible screams and tortured cries echoed up, a chorus of despair.

The two took a deep breath, their hearts pounding as they gazed into the darkness. And then, without another word, they leaped into the void.

Thunk.

The sound of their landing was dull, softened by something beneath them. But as John moved, his hands brushing against the surface, he realized it was no mere stone or dirt that had cushioned their fall.

"What the hell is this?" John muttered, his voice trembling as his fingers grazed the cold, lifeless surface.

He opened his eyes, and horror filled his gaze.

Beneath him lay a pile of corpses. Their bodies were limp, lifeless, yet the blood was fresh, still trickling from their wounds. The smell of death hung thick in the air, a stench that clawed at his throat.

"Shit!" John shouted, scrambling off the heap, his body shaking as he rolled away from the macabre scene.

His eyes darted around, scanning their surroundings. They were in a cavernous space, far larger than any hall they had ever seen. But to call it a hall would be an insult to its true nature.

It was a battlefield.

All around them, creatures fought, monstrous beings locked in brutal combat. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of them clashed, their roars of fury mixing with the screams of the dying. It was chaos, a storm of violence that seemed to have no end.

In the midst of it all, one figure stood dominant.

A knight, his armor blackened by rust and stained with blood, towered over the other combatants. His helm was adorned with massive horns, resembling those of a bull, and in his hands, two gleaming scythes spun with deadly precision.

Above him, his name flickered in the air, glowing with an eerie light.

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IRIN,

Primordial Sin.

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"What do we do, Noah?!" John's voice was frantic, panic rising in his chest as he watched the carnage unfold before him.

"Kill everything that crosses your path." Noah's reply was cold, emotionless. His eyes were devoid of fear, of doubt. This was nothing new to him. He had seen death before. He had lived through worse.

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"Et voilà! Dinner is served!" Father Jeffrey announced with a smile, setting down plates of food before his guests.

"Wow! Where'd you find all this?" Kevin asked, his eyes wide with surprise as he took in the feast laid out before them.

It was an extravagant spread, more suited to a holiday banquet than a post-apocalyptic dinner. The table was filled with roasted meats, fresh bread, fruits, and even wine—luxuries in this shattered world.

"Let's just say I spent a few coins for the occasion," Father Jeffrey said with a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Kevin wasted no time digging in, stuffing his mouth full of food. "Mmmm... It's sho delishioush!" he mumbled through a mouthful of meat, barely able to contain his excitement.

"Disgusting!" Isabelle snapped, her expression one of pure disdain as she watched Kevin shovel food into his mouth. "Eat with your mouth closed!"

Grace, on the other hand, was far more polite. She smiled sweetly at the priest, her small voice barely above a whisper as she spoke. "Thank you, Father Jeffrey. This is wonderful."

"You're welcome, little one," the priest replied, his warm smile never faltering as he looked at her. His eyes, however, were already far away, calculating, planning.