When the mountains are turned to dust//Bastille

Rhys parked the peeling Legend along Bearstone avenue before he and Lucy trekked the rest of the way into the forest to s903. The night dense and penetrating, the type that shows you nothing and makes you look inward instead. If the trees had contorted evil smiling faces onto their trunks, it wouldn't have been out of place for the unease shrouding the teens.

"I love you." Her voice was just above a whisper. "I'm letting you know because after tonight, our lives will never be the same again."

"Lucy, I—" She put a finger to his lips. His eyes probed hers in the dark, he saw nothing.

"You don't have to feel the same way. But you deserve to know the truth."

She took hold of his hand and led him on to the house. The inside of the house was as dark and gloomy as a starless sky. They stood in front of the cellar doors that led to the basement.

"What's in the basement?" Rhys said, alarmed at the amount of energy emanating in from behind the doors.

"Have you heard of Dark Stigmata?"

"No."

"It's a entity that feeds off souls and death and suffering. I'm the unfortunate human being it has chosen as a host to carry out its will," she lamented.

"To achieve death? To spread chaos? I hear those words everyday." Her caressed her cheek to comfort her. A tear met his finger.

"You and I. We're just pawns in a big game of chess. A fucked up game of death where everyone except me dies," she said, her voice shaking.

"Who killed my mother?" Rhys asked. He wasn't trying at all to be accusatory.

Lucy shook her head in the dark. "I'm sorry." She sniffled back her tears. "It was the was the last thing I wanted to do. When you're a host of the Dark Stigmata, you cede all control."

Rhys held her in the crook of his shoulder, her tears wet his shirt. "What's in the basement?" he finally said after a long pause.

"The Stigmata feeds off of souls of the living, their suffering, their damnation. The souls pour into a cauldron before their consumed, making it live longer and get stronger. The cauldron is in the basement, there's also a lot of gasoline."

"What's the gas for?"

"We're burning everything here. Its what we have to do if we're living this place alive. It was just a matter of time before you killed someone, or had someone kill you. That's all there is to this game. Mental manipulation, death. There's nothing we can do to end the cycle, but we can save ourselves and each other."

"We save ourselves by burning the house and the basement? That's it?"

"And getting out of Middlehazy," she added.

"Do we have to?"

"We'll end up like everybody else if we don't." She opened the cellar doors to reveal a dark descending staircase. She took his hand and led him down the wooded staircase. He was instantly made aware of violently vibrating heavy metal and a shrill frequency. Lucy pushed open the door at the end of the staircase to reveal the setup inside. The large black pot vibrated on its elevation and glowed a dark red-hot crimson. The bell crucible stood on 3 legs and had undistinguishable objects jutting out of it. Flanking it were arrangements in which a skull sat upright on a cross of bones. Clay dolls and ornaments mock guarded the cauldron like the idol it supposedly was. Ivies and ferns that were stuck to the interior of the room had dried and hardened. The stone finish floor was filthy and caked with soil, the room smelt like something (someone?) had died. The room was the product of a fever dream and a nightmare.

Around it were several gallons of gasoline in transparent containers. "This place should be easy to destroy as it is," Rhys said, his mouth dry and his features disbelieving. "What's going to happen when we destroy this shrine?" he asked.

"The Stigmata will be enraged. It will try to recover its loot as soon as it can. I know it won't be able to as it burns." She picked up two containers of the gasoline.

And if it did collect enough souls to replenish itself, Rhys and Lucy would have killed innocent people for nothing. They'd have blood on their hands because of their love, their consuming and blinding love. They would run away and try to live normal lives as if they didn't destroy the lives of many others. The tragic consequence that they had no choice but to accept if they wanted to be together. Aeipathy and Acquiescence. Lucy and Rhys.

"Do you trust me, Rhys?" Lucy whispered as they neared the house. He managed a nod.

"We're entering the house. We have to be quiet, not even a whisper when we're inside."

They reached the front door, they breathed heavily, the crickets sang like the night was merry. Slowly, Lucy pushed the door open to a pitch-black hall. Rhys' eyes followed her as best as he could while they trickled a bit of the gasoline on the floor. They probed the interior, spilling the flammable liquid on the furniture, the wood panelling and on the carpeted floors of the living room. They left one of the rooms completely untouched, instead pouring the gasoline on its exterior. That had to be where the Stigmata was. Rhys suspicions were confirmed when a echoing voice called out to Lucy. He instantly recognised the voice, it was never his own voice that he heard the emperor speak to him with. The androgynous croak of a voice froze them in place as they tiptoed around with its authority and malevolence.

Lucy whispered, "Light it up while I'm still here."

"What? Are you out of your mind? How are you going to get—"

"Lucy, my little one! You Elude me dear!" the voice came again, reverberating in the gasoline-soaked floors.

"At your service, lord." Lucy knelt in front of the bedroom door, generously emptying her container of gasoline on the entrance.

Rhys crept towards the entrance of the house, not quite sure if he should do as he asked.

"I have grown weary of your antics, child. You cling to that boy whose eyes see through our darkness. The on3 that does not bend to my will. Why have you not made an example of him?"

"I understand, lord. He is the first to ever suspect my doings. On the morrow, he will know true suffering," Lucy declared to the closed door and looked in Rhys direction, mouthing to him to get it over with it.

Standing in the doorway, Rhys triggered the lighter in his pocket and dropped it to the floor, watching the infernal spread to the furniture and dance along the interior wood panelling. The fire crackled and spit out black fumes from burning appliances that it quickly spread to. Rhys made a dash for the porch steps and got caught in the aftershock of an explosion in the house. As he fell to the ground, the flames danced and roared over s903 in a fierce fireball of black smoke and flying woodchips. The fireball superimposed itself brightly over the pupils in his frightened eyes as he backed away from it. Out of the fireball emerged Lucy, a coughing mess, unharmed for the most part. He was relieved that she had made it out until he caught an unnerving detail. Her shadow was hulking and hideous, completely enveloping his own with curved horns, spread wings and its flowing garments and hooved feet.

Lucy reached out to him. "Let's get outta here," she cried in near panic as she extended her arm to him. That arm, it was her arm, the arm he'd held when she said to trust her. The arm that had murdered his mother.

"Rhys!" she pleaded, trying to drag him away with her. He didn't budge. The real Lucy knew they had to destroy EVERYTHING here. A tear traced her cheek, her ash-stained face was desperate. He almost ran with her through the trees at that moment, it took all his willpower not to. He pulled himself out of her grasp and stood his ground.

"Rhys… I thought you loved me," she accused in an uncharacteristically high pitch.

Rhys shook her piercing words out of his mind and himself to consciousness. He was laying on the grass face down. A large part if the burning cottage crumbled and crashed onto the earth. He looked around for Lucy and spotted her unconscious form not very far away from the burning house. He scrambled to drag her to safety and peered into eyes.

"Lucy! Lucy! Fight it! Fight it for me," Rhys said, shaking her in a bid to snap her out of the hold the Stigmata had him in a few moments before.

"The basement," she said weakly. Her eyes fluttered out from the back of her head for a brief second before they were gone again.

"The basement," he said aloud before he frisked her for lighter, which he found.

He ran to the basement and flew down the cellar doors and staircase. He opened the door that led to the shrine and saw how much more violently the crucible vibrated and how much more shrill the ghostly wailing had become. He ignited a small trail of the spilt fuel that led to the rest of it and shut the door behind him. As he ran in the opposite direction, the little tail of fire did the same. His quick bounds up the stairs to the doors were just enough to get him clear of the impending explosion.

It must have been the abundance of soil, the blast was flat and cushioned, compressed even. The ground tremored underneath, he heard the distinct crash of the iron crucible, and the fireball that used to be s903 lit up the surrounding forest even brighter in a new found fury. Rhys rushed to where Lucy lay supine in the short grass of the front lawn and picked her up for a bridal style carry.

He hoisted her up, she was still out cold, far away. He looked once more at the burning house before he turned his back on it and walked to where he parked the acura. This isn't how he pictured he would finally be with her, or that she was the servant of a constantly drowning god. He accepted her for who she was, and she had to strip down her own truth because of her love for him. She stirred in his arms, and was conscious for brief moments. Her weak smile and slow blinking eyes, he couldn't wait for her to open them fully. It was just a matter of time.

~

The sun had risen and was due to set since Rhys had started driving. He had never driven for this long, he was only a few kilometres away from discarding the light lunch that he didn't have the means to replace due to his motion sickness. He turned off Turbury's Highway 6 into a convenience store parking lot. Lucy still hadn't woken up yet. She laid in the backseat in a fleece, content in her sleep. All they had was a hastily packed duffel bag of clothes, a few hundred shillings in cash, and half a tank of gas. He cranked up the stereo, the afternoon news was on.

"—and we have the most tragic news coming out of the Rosebush areas of Middlehazy, Gareth, what are your thoughts on the developing stories?

Gareth, her co-host cleared his throat. "The headline says 'Anarchy and Chaos in Rosebush'. It looks a lot like both with a touch of insanity if we're really being truthful. Reports claim that a fierce prison riot at Garsons' Maximum Security Penitentiary claimed the lives of hundreds of inmates and several wardens. The cause of the riot is yet to be revealed, but insider reports are suggesting mass hysteria and Lunacy. The rampaging inmates spilled into a nearby Rosebush neighbourhood and set multiple houses on fire, killing and injuring hundreds more than the prior riot at Garsons'."

"It's unfortunate, Garry. Rosebush is by far one of the peaceful areas in Middlehazy. The listeners and people caught in the crossfire want answers. Answers and Justice! Thankfully we have Mr. Navarro here in the Radio 6 studio with us today to update us on new developments and hopefully answer some of our burning questions. 2-2-triple 8-5-5-2-2-2, that's the number to call us on Radio 6! Now, without further ado; The Middlehazy Chief Of Police Mr. Navarro. It's Mr., right?" Stacy11 chirped.

"Mr. is okay. Thank you for having me."

"The pleasure is all ours Mr. Navarro, you must be really busy."

"Busy is an understatement, Stacy. We have officers on the field, in riot gear giving it their all. Initially, we thought it was only the escaped prisoners that wreaked all the havoc. It turns out, even civilians are perpetrating these horrible, horrible acts of violence. One knows what's causing it. It is like, whatchamacallit, a spreading disease? A plague? People are going feral, burning houses and stabbing their spouse and kids. It's sad."

"Do the police have any clues? Any leads what might be causing this, uh— plague as you call it," Gareth chimed in.

"Well, we received a report of a murder by a 21-year-old woman. She killed all five of her roommates and wrote the words 'Achieve Death, Spread Chaos' on the wall of her dorm in blood. We've had multiple reports of those words and other violent intonations in the penitentiary and other murder scenes in the past 6 hours or so. No one knows the origin of the phrase or what it implies apart from violence, The Middlehazy Police Department is going above and beyond to get the situation under its control. I'd like to wish my sincere condolences to the families of the 448 recorded victims and the others we may have not found yet. We stand together in this, all of Middlehazy. All of Armaigne in fact. Justice will prevail."

"2-2-8-8-8-5-5-2-2-2, call us, call us, call us now! Hello? Who do we have calling in to Radio 6 today?" No misfortune was ever too big for Stacy11's radio-friendly chatterbox.

"Kristen," A muffled female voice said on the other end.

"Kristen, what are your concerns on the matter at hand?" Gareth said.

"My husband," Kristen said over static bumps and distortion, "We was just eatin' breakfast and then wham! He done dunked his face in his chickin nuggets. He didn't wake up for 2 darn hours, the truck wasn't gonna drive itself, was it now?"

"Absolutely not," Gareth concurred, listening on.

"Then I done saw the anarchy outside, the screamin', the killin', the fires. I been feelin' a presence Mr. Gareth, an evil presence. This ain't a job for the po-leece in their riot gear, their armour won't do nothin' in this war. What we need is the armour of God, these the end times Paul done wrote about in Revelations, Gareth. I urge you all repeat after me right now if you listenin' to your stereo: Dear Gawd, I know I am a sinner, I wanna turn away from my sins, and ask for your forgiv—"

"Sorry ma'am for cutting you off so soon as we're running out of time," Gareth apologised unapologetically. He probably expected a better, more neutral-headed contribution to the show.

"The end of times, huh? That there was Kristen with a message for all of all of us. Any takeaways Mr. Navarro?"

"I should have mentioned this earlier, my apologies," the officer started, "We've had about two dozen people lose conscious for 2 to 3 hours for unknown reasons. We initially thought it was because of the toxic fumes in the city, or maybe the klaxons up at Garsons'. Our experts couldn't find any traces of toxic substances in the patients brought in to the hospital. The patients themselves all experienced their lapses in consciousness differently. Some don't remember a thing of what happened, while the others report dreams like they had only just been asleep."

"Will there be any lasting effects?" Stacy asked.

"Not that we know of. Maybe after some months or so, we—"

Rhys turned off the stereo, letting his mind wander before he nodded off to a fitful nap.

~

Rhys woke up several hours later, the sound of cars at night had a sort of benevolence he couldn't explain. Headlights shown over his face as they whizzed past, the vibrations of the acura on the highway, the grateful rumble of its engine, the soft rock on the radio. Lucy had both of her hands on the wheel, focused on the dark road ahead. He was in the passengers seat now, the car crawled along the road at a patient pace.

"You're so miserable without me," she said, realising he had awoken from his nap. The car shifted up as she sped up to cruising.

"Never again."

"Never."