Chapter 65: Dark Choir MB

The Dark Chapel had never felt truly alive before.

It had always possessed an eerie beauty.

Black stone walls.

Towering stained-glass windows.

Candles that burned with silver flames.

Whispering shadows that moved when nobody watched.

But now…

Now something deeper stirred within it.

The Dark Manuscript floated above the altar.

Its pages turned by themselves.

Ancient runes crawled across parchment.

Black mist drifted through the room like living fog.

Gene stood near the front pews while the four nuns gathered around the altar.

Mother Sarah stood in the center.

Beside her was Sister Beatrice.

The towering nun looked nervous.

Gene couldn’t blame her.

They were about to discover what happened when two supernatural horror nuns fused together using a cursed holy book.

History suggested that nothing good came from sentences like that.

The manuscript suddenly slammed shut.

The sound echoed through the church.

BOOM.

The candles immediately extinguished.

Darkness swallowed the room.

A heartbeat followed by crimson light flooded outward from the book.

The transformation had begun.

⸻

Mother Sarah reached forward first.

Sister Beatrice followed.

Their hands touched the cover simultaneously.

The manuscript opened.

A burst of blinding white light erupted from its pages.

The church shook.

The younger nuns stumbled backward.

Gene instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes.

The light grew brighter.

And brighter.

And brighter.

Then the screaming started.

Not screams of fear.

Not pain exactly.

Something stranger.

Voices.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds.

Whispers.

Prayers.

Songs.

Laughter.

Crying.

Every sound layered together into a single impossible choir.

The very air vibrated.

Mother Sarah and Beatrice were lifted from the floor.

Black mist wrapped around them.

Their habits fluttered wildly.

Their bodies began to merge.

⸻

The process was horrifying.

Yet Gene couldn’t look away.

The two women drifted together as if pulled by invisible strings.

Their robes tangled first.

Black cloth twisted together.

Threads merged.

Fused.

Expanded.

The fabric thickened into something entirely new.

Their bodies followed.

Skin rippled.

Flesh stretched.

Bones shifted beneath the surface.

Mother Sarah’s height increased several inches.

Her shoulders widened.

Her silhouette became larger.

More imposing.

A new habit formed around her body.

Jet black.

Deep crimson borders running along every edge.

Silver symbols glowed briefly before vanishing beneath the cloth.

Then Mother Sarah’s face changed.

Her expression twisted.

Pain flashed across her features.

A halo of fog appeared behind her head.

Not light.

Fog.

A dense ring of silver mist that rotated endlessly.

Black tears began flowing from her eyes.

At first only a few drops.

Then dozens.

Then hundreds.

The black liquid poured down her face unnaturally fast.

Like a waterfall.

Like her body had forgotten how tears were supposed to work.

The younger nuns stared in shock.

The black tears coated her habit.

Covered her chest.

Dripped onto the altar.

The liquid moved almost as if alive.

Gene watched silently.

His summoning system had officially entered the category of “deeply concerning.”

Mother Sarah spasmed violently.

Her back arched.

The fog halo expanded.

The black tears suddenly turned crimson.

Red blood now flowed out

From her fingertips.

From beneath her fingernails.

The blood dripped endlessly.

Yet somehow she never weakened.

The manuscript glowed brighter.

The book dissolved into light.

The pages disintegrated.

Thousands of glowing symbols floated through the air.

They spiraled toward Mother Sarah’s left arm.

The symbols fused together.

Compressed.

Solidified.

The manuscript became part of her body.

The transformation created something resembling a lantern torch.

Its handle fused directly into her hand.

Silver fire erupted from the top.

The flame roared like a living creature.

Violent.

Hungry.

Beautiful.

Sterilizing. 

The church walls reflected the shifting firelight.

Gene could see faces hidden inside the flames.

Praying.

Watching.

Waiting.

He decided not to mention that.

⸻

The next stage was worse.

Much worse.

Metal burst from beneath her skin.

Massive black steel spikes erupted outward from inside her arms.

The sound resembled swords being pulled from flesh.

The younger nuns flinched.

Gene winced.

Mother Sarah didn’t react.

She simply floated.

Blood dripping endlessly.

Mist swirling around her halo.

Then her arms split.

Bones divided.

Muscles reshaped.

Flesh separated.

Two arms became four.

The new limbs unfolded like blooming flowers.

One pair clasped together in eternal prayer.

The fingers interlocked tightly.

Before anyone could react—

Massive metal spikes erupted outwards through both hands.

The steel pierced completely through.

Yet Mother Sarah never screamed.

Never moved.

Her black rosary wrapped itself around the skewered hands.

The beads tightened.

Locked into place.

The sight was simultaneously beautiful and horrifying.

A living icon.

A monument to suffering.

And faith.

⸻

The final arm moved.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

A chain of burning incense appeared.

The censer swung gently.

Smoke poured from the burning vessel.

The scent filled the church.

Strangely comforting.

Strangely familiar.

Like childhood memories.

Like forgotten prayers.

Like home.

Gene immediately wrote that down mentally.

Reality-altering incense probably deserved documentation.

⸻

Then came the most disturbing part.

Mother Sarah’s skin split open.

A long tear opened along the side of her neck.

The younger nuns gasped.

Gene stared.

Something emerged.

A skull.

Human.

Yet wrong.

The skull pushed outward through the opening.

Not violently.

Almost reverently.

As if bowing.

The bone structure resembled a hooded head emerging from within her body.

The skull lowered itself.

Respectfully.

Patiently.

Awaiting instruction.

Mother Sarah raised the clasped hands.

The bloody thumbs moved.

They painted symbols across the skull’s forehead.

Ancient symbols.

Unknown symbols.

The blood flowed over the bone.

Covering it completely.

The shape began to change.

⸻

The transformation accelerated.

The blood hardened.

Porcelain formed.

Black.

Crimson.

Beautiful.

The skull became a statue.

A praying woman.

Elegant.

Perfect.

The statue appeared to be praying eternally.

Its hands folded.

Its face serene.

Its expression peaceful.

The contrast between the peaceful statue and the grotesque body surrounding it made the entire thing infinitely more unsettling.

The veil descended.

Black fabric drifted over the remaining flesh.

Concealing everything beneath.

The old head vanished entirely.

Only the porcelain figure remained visible.

For several seconds nobody spoke.

The church was silent.

Then something moved behind the statue.

⸻

A pillar emerged.

Black flesh stretched upward.

Growing.

Lengthening.

Twisting.

The structure rose behind the porcelain head.

Longer.

Longer.

Longer.

Far longer than any neck should ever be.

The shape eventually formed another face.

Smaller.

Narrower.

More monstrous.

The features elongated unnaturally.

The eyes snapped open.

Silver light exploded outward.

The entire church flashed white.

The younger nuns stumbled backward.

The silver glow lasted only seconds.

Then faded.

The eyes slowly darkened.

Purple replaced silver.

Deep.

Ancient.

Hungry.

The monstrous face blinked.

Then calmly adjusted the veil.

Concealing itself.

Hiding.

Waiting.

The horrifying elegance of the gesture somehow made it worse.

⸻

Silence filled the church.

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

The creature floated several feet above the floor.

Its robes concealed most of its body.

Its lower half disappeared into darkness.

From a distance—

It almost looked like several praying nuns standing together.

The illusion wasn’t perfect.

But it was close.

A congregation contained within a single being.

A choir.

Gene finally understood.

The name formed naturally.

Mother Sarah slowly lowered herself toward the floor.

Her voice echoed.

Several voices layered together.

Young voices.

Old voices.

Sweet voices.

Acrid voices.

All together.

“We are… complete.”

Gene shivered.

“That was incredibly creepy… but I’ll also cool.”

Mostly cool.

⸻

Athena immediately began scanning.

Data flooded across Gene’s visor.

The results were astonishing.

NEW FORM DETECTED

Designation:

DARK CHOIR MB

Components:

Mother Sarah

Sister Beatrice

Classification:

Religious Horror Entity

Rank:

Rare Evolution

Abilities:

• Shared Consciousness
• Increased Spiritual Power
• Enhanced Shadow Travel
• Holy Fire Manipulation
• Reality Distortion Resistance
• Multi-Soul Awareness
• Religious Domain Expansion

Additional Function:

Can absorb additional nuns.

Gene’s eyebrows rose.

“Wait.”

The younger nuns looked toward him.

“What?”

Gene pointed.

“You can absorb the others too.”

The church became quiet again.

Mother Sarah blinked.

The monstrous face beneath the veil slowly smiled.

That somehow made everyone uncomfortable.

⸻

Testing lasted another hour.

The discoveries kept coming.

The fusion wasn’t fixed.

It changed based upon the participants.

Every combination would create a different form.

Different abilities.

Different appearances.

Different powers.

Mother Sarah and Beatrice had simply been the first.

The Dark Manuscript functioned like a catalyst.

Without the manuscript—

No transformation.

With the manuscript—

The possibilities became endless.

Eventually they finalized the naming system.

Dark Choir.

Followed by the initials of the participating nuns.

Dark Choir MB.

Future forms would receive different designations.

The younger nuns immediately began theorizing combinations.

Gene quietly decided to let Mother Sarah manage that.

His horror religion had become complicated.

Again.

⸻

Several hours later Gene finally left the chapel.

Behind him he could hear the nuns discussing future sermons.

Future upgrades.

Future combinations.

The church would be fine.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Maybe.

He preferred not to think too hard about it.

The afternoon sun hung low over Mystic Blood Valley.

The merged world stretched farther every day.

Towns thrived.

The hotel bustled with activity.

The school operated smoothly.

The chapel had apparently gained an eldritch choir.

Normal things.

Perfectly normal things.

Gene smiled.

Then headed toward the hotel.

Tomorrow he and Selene would begin searching her grandmother’s mansion.

The missing egg box.

The necklace.

The prophecy.

The gems.

Everything seemed connected.

Somewhere inside that forgotten estate—

Answers waited.

And judging by recent events—

Those answers were probably going to be very strange.

Gene honestly wouldn’t have it any other way.