Whispers and Bells
Warnings had been whispered into the wind, carried on cryptic posts and half-remembered conversations, but the hunters weren’t listening. Not really. They hadn’t planned, they hadn’t prepared—there was no strategy here. Havensport had a way of numbing even the most alert of souls, and the hunters, for all their past scars, had wandered blindly into Blessed Father Church like moths to a flame.
The night felt thick with something, but none of them cared to notice. Miko had spent the evening preparing homemade jerky to hand out after the sermon, eager to feed the crowd and raise awareness for the work he believed in. Kimmy, optimistic in the way only someone new to Havensport could be, thought she was helping. The church needed her help, surely they had only the best intentions. She had set up her drones earlier, not to monitor the church itself, but to guard against whatever outside force might come for them. It never occurred to her that the darkness was already inside.
Dwight, ever the quiet storm, had slipped inside the church early, finding a seat where he could keep an eye on everything. Barney followed close behind, taking a seat without much thought, his mind already elsewhere, haunted by old memories and the feeling that something was about to break.
At 8 PM, the bells tolled. The lights flickered and died, plunging the congregation into a void where the air itself seemed to hum with tension. For Whom the Bell Tolls played through the church’s speakers, a chilling choice, and the spotlight flickered on, illuminating Father Dean as he took the pulpit.
Dean’s voice echoed through the sanctuary, drenched in Majesty, pulling the crowd under his spell. It was control, pure and simple. His words wrapped around their minds, drawing them in, filling the space with a kind of awe that made it impossible to think about anything else. He spoke of power, of salvation through devotion, but underneath it all was the unmistakable subtext: you belong to me.
Back in the shadows, things were moving. The sermon was just a smokescreen.
It was Dwight who was pulled in first. Dean called him forward, his eyes boring into Dwight’s soul without the need for even a touch. The words came soft but undeniable, winding their way into Dwight’s mind like smoke filling a room. The command was simple: kill Sister Helen. And that was all it took. Dwight turned, his face flushed with zeal, and marched out of the church, loudly proclaiming his newfound purpose to anyone who would listen.
Miko heard him just as he was finishing with the last few pieces of jerky, the small crowd around him chatting idly. The words hit him like a slap, pulling him from his work. Dwight—quiet, steady Dwight—talking about killing Sister Helen? There wasn’t time to think. Miko dropped the rest of the jerky and slipped into the crowd, moving after Dwight with a quiet urgency. The night had taken a turn, and Miko had no idea where it would end.
Meanwhile, Barney found himself seated across from Father Dean. Dr Sudworth sprang into view, an offer of defence against the powers of the night. Barney decided that, now of all times, was the time to try and refuse. There was no preamble, no handshake, just that piercing gaze and the words that followed. Dean’s Majesty wrapped around Barney like a vice, and soon the command came: kill Josaia Niemczyk.
Barney left, as if in a trance, while Kimmy watched him leave with cold determination. She followed. Something told her this night wasn’t going to end well.
Miko, following behind Dwight as he made his way to the Sinner, called Raven, she didn't answer, fresh Hunters usally are not worth her time. He left a frantic message though, and the message was recieved. Helen was safe, having vacated the Sinner before Dwight could carry out his orders.
In an Uber hurtling to a date with Josaia, Barney felt a familiar, unsettling presence beside him. The ghost of Dr. Roswell Sudworth hovered near, his spectral form a reminder of the dark path Barney had been treading. This time, though, Sudworth offered a way out. Out of the grip of Dean, but with a heavy price.
In the back of the Uber, with the city lights flickering past in a blur, Barney nodded, already buckling under the weight of Dean’s command. Sudworth wasted no time—his ghostly hands moved through Barney’s mind, severing the threads of control with brutal precision. The pain was blinding, a searing agony that left Barney gasping, but as the compulsion shattered, so did his connection to Dean’s will. Barney's screams in pain caused the Uber to swerve and jolt, and he was thrown out, hitting the pavement hard as the car sped off into the night.
Kimmy had been following behind in her car, watching as Barney’s Uber suddenly swerved and dumped him onto the street. Her heart pounded as she slammed on the brakes, pulling over to scoop him up. Barney was disoriented, barely able to stand, but the compulsion was gone. Kimmy, with the help of a bystander hauled Barney into the passenger seat. The hospital wasn’t far, but in Havensport, that distance felt like miles when you were being hunted.
The Repentant Sinner was quiet when Dwight arrived, the usual warmth of the bar muted by an eerie stillness. Tohmas Cooke was the only one there, and he quickly ushered Dwight inside, offering him a drink. As the minutes passed and the alcohol flowed, Dwight’s mind fogged, the weight of Father Dean’s influence pressing down on him. Tohmas, unaware of the spell lingering over Dwight, kept pouring, giving the rest of the hunters the time they desperately needed.
Just as Dwight was sinking deeper into his stupor, a man dressed in black appeared, moving with purpose through the dim light. Without hesitation, he placed a firm hand on Dwight’s shoulder, the other gripping a large cross. The air grew heavy as he began chanting in Latin, his voice cutting through the haze. The words seemed to vibrate with power, and the atmosphere in the bar shifted. Dwight tensed as the weight of the charm was ripped from his mind in a flash of searing pain and clarity.
In that moment of drunken insight, fragments of memory surfaced—images of this man from years ago, long buried in Dwight’s mind. The man was a member of the Malleus Maleficarum, a secret order of hunters Dwight had once crossed paths with, though he had forgotten until now.
As the ritual ended, Dwight sat slumped at the bar, free from Dean’s control, but the revelation lingered—old knowledge he thought lost had returned.
Outside, the city of Havensport breathed in the deep, slow rhythm of the night, its streets winding into shadows that swallowed sound and light alike. The fog thickened, creeping through alleyways like a living thing, coiling around the legs of the weary and the lost. Inside the Sinner, the air was heavy with the residue of old magic, its echoes still vibrating in the bones of those who remained. The hunters had survived the night, but Havensport had its way of sinking its claws deeper with every passing hour. Here, the night never truly ended—it only stretched on, unrelenting, as the darkness waited for its next chance to strike.
