Chapter 1: Rejoice
Monday, November 13th 2023
6:25 a.m.
As the door closed, Gray thought to himself,
'Why did my sister even tell me to go out to buy milk at this hour, I didn't sleep at all…'
The orange light almost blinded the boy, making him squint to shield his eyes from the orange glow of the sun; while the cold, morning breeze made his long, jet-black hair ruffle in the air.
The icy wind blew at him like a coiled snake, reaching every limb of his body, making him shiver incessantly.
He checked his watch and yawned.
"It's early… I could have slept for over thirty minutes. It's also too cold. I should have really listened to my sister and worn my coat..."
He stared at his clothes: A grey hoodie paired with some blue jeans he had found around his floor riddled with clothes, and a pair of black gloves to protect his hands from the cold.
Just as soon as he stopped berating himself for being too careless, he started walking.
…
While strolling, he saw the group of workers that were working on building a house next to his, gazing and pointing at the sky.
The house was in its latter stages after many years of construction.
It was a beautiful villa with two floors, a pool and a large garden, perfect for a family with many kids.
It was also surrounded by a perfectly trimmed trail of trees going over their neighborhood.
It still needed to be painted and to get the rebars removed, however.
Nonetheless, even though the house was still unfinished, it had many pros but only one con.
It was expensive!
"Did you never see the sun or what?" Gray asked jokingly.
He knew the workers well since they had worked on that particular house for over five years.
The workers didn't mind him–they actually enjoyed the presence of the young man.
Gray had once used to bring snacks or the food his sister made in the summer days when the sun was too hot to bear, consequently gaining their approval.
A middle-aged worker looked down and said to Gray,
"...Something strange is going on. You should go back home with your sister," his voice was hoarse and full of seriousness, but that was quite normal for him.
"Huh? Casanova, what do you mean?" Gray replied.
Mario Casanova was the construction manager and the one with the most experience among the people working in that house.
He was a middle aged man with snow white short hair and a trimmed beard of the same color.
His eyes had a profound green color–it was as if he could look inside the soul of everything he looked at.
"...The Sun rose in the wrong direction." Casanova abruptly said.
"Wha...?"
Suddenly, one of the workers started to mumble incoherently under his breath. His voice was slurred and panicked.
"How is this possible? The other signs didn't appear yet…" the worker seemed very distressed, seemingly at the edge of clawing his own face off.
Casanova bent down and placed his hand on his shoulder.
"Zakaria, calm down. Tell us what's going on."
"I've read about this!" Zakaria cried out. "I've read it—but I never believed it! The Quran was right! It was written that the Sun would rise from the west in the end times!"
The man with tanned skin and brown eyes sobbed.
"I'm not ready for the end times… I'm not ready yet! I didn't even marry the girl I love… I beg of you, give me more time!"
The man raised his hands to the sky in prayer. He pleaded incoherently and uncontrollably, the constant sobbing matting the sound of his whispers.
Gray looked at this scene in confusion.
Zakaria was a timid and quiet man... he never struck Gray as the fervently zealous kind of guy.
This was... strange.
He looked back at the sky.
Could the sun have really risen in the wrong direction?
"Just go home." Casanova repeated.
The young man nodded at him. However, he decided to visit the store first.
…
Gray yawned once more.
He mindlessly reached for his phone, only to stop mid-way.
The battery felt awfully hot.
Though it could've been something normal for a device as old as his, it was slightly bizarre. This type of warmth mostly happened on summer days, not on cold November days.
He decided to ignore this for the time being.
After all, he was curious to see about the peculiar situation of the sun.
Click!
As he unlocked the device, his expression tensed.
Many text bubbles appeared at the top of his screen, covering a rather embarassing wallpaper of him and his sister.
The texts belonged to his sister, his classmates and even to people he was unwilling to remember.
They all said the same ominous phrase.
"DON'T DO IT."
'…Did my phone get hacked?'
This was the only explanation he could muster.
Hiss...!
A sudden pain in his fingers and palm caused him to drop his phone on the floor.
Gray brought his hand to his face and, with a terrified expression, found that most of his hand sported a reddish blister upon it, as if he had forcefully slammed his palm on a scalding pan.
He had originally wanted to call his sister and tell her about the eerie words Casanova and Zakaria had said, but this strange, unexplainable event made him stop in his tracks.
Something felt wrong.
Extremely wrong.
Gray carefully grabbed his phone from the ground by using his exposed sleeve as a DIY protection. He then sighed in relief, glad that his screen hadn't broken.
That day, Gray avoided being killed by his sister!
Still using his sleeves to clumsily tap on his screen, Gray decided to to call her. He was right about to do it, when suddenly, an ear-splitting trumpet boomed.
A blood curdling scream then came from an unspecified place, hidden within the many stars of the universe.
Gray had never heard someone seeming so desperate, so horrified.
After that soul shaking shriek, a choir started to sing from seemingly nowhere!
Their song was utterly terrifying.
Even if he couldn't understand anything, their so called words—more similar to chaotic and a disorganized cacophony of shrieks—sounded like a blasphemy against the world that hoisted them, and again the same creation that birthed them.
The sound was akin to someone scraping their awfully long nails over a chalkboard, with every single 'word' feeling like a violation to the ears of the ones cursed to experience their ancient song.
Abruptly, a tree next to him ignited in flames!
Then another one did!
Every single tree in his vision inexplicably engulfed in bright, orange flames.
Gray felt pure terror as he walked backwards, stumbling on the sidewalk, hurting his head in the fall.
He rapidly rose up and ran in the middle of the road, away from every material prone to ignition.
Trembling uncontrollably, he watched the overwhelming inferno eat throughout the city like a ravaging beast.
The choir sang more loudly. Their hideous voices gripped his stomach, turning it inside out.
The terrifying voices from the sky broke out in a repulsive laughter, as if they were mocking Gray and the universe itself.
He couldn't help but focus on what they were saying.
"Therimpare…"
"Shawash…"
"Queribae Qhchulun…"
"Daemonium Chrajnthuchtun…"
They roared.
Even though his head started to throb painfully, Gray kept on listening.
"Quierium Kawalaeh…"
"Quierium Kawalaeh…"
"Quierium Kawalaeh…"
The choir kept on repeating and repeating the maddening phrase.
Once they ended their chant, Gray could feel that something followed. It was as if the last content of their song was filled by a dense haze that clouded his mind.
Every time they repeated their hellish phrase, the haze turned thinner and thinner, allowing him to hear more of the last 'word.'
"Quierium Kawalaeh S…"
"Quierium Kawalaeh Sh…"
"Quierium Kawalaeh Sha…"
Amidst the crackling of the blazing inferno, he heard something dripping from below.
Confused, Gray slowly looked down and...
saw a puddle of his bright, red blood.
'Huh…?'
He instinctively wiped his nose.
'Is it the choir…?'
Gray used every single ounce of his willpower to stop listening.
This wasn't right, this wasn't normal!
If he kept on listening, his head might really burst!
He had to stop paying attention, and so, Gray reflected on what was happening.
The world slowed down. The sounds became matted.
Their ritualistic choir, their chanting, their continuing uttering of a word he couldn't understand…
Gray was a reader.
Unlike many of his peers, he was fond of authors such as Poe, Chambers, and the greatest of them all, Lovecraft.
His novels came to mind, and pattern recognition did the rest.
What he wasn't able to comprehend without his head bursting wasn't a curse nor a chant… it was a name.
Their continuing wailing all pointed to someone—or "something."
And that 'being' was the one they were trying to invoke.