Order of the Shattered Cross:

I'd like to thank Lastman416 for the read through and edits.

--

"Mr. Augustine has never had any visitors," the orderly said. He wore clean, white linen scrubs and soft shoes. A hulking young man, over six feet tall, with the strength unfortunately often required for his day-to-day employment.

Walking one step behind him was an elderly man. The older man was a priest, walking with his left-hand swinging to his side, his right, holding a bible with a light grip against his chest. Even in his twilight years, having turned eighty-three a month ago, he walked without limp, lean, or effort. Not even a cane to aid him. Some would say God had been good to him. He disagreed. God had given him a body, so he treated it like a cherished temple rather than an amusement park.

Father Neville O'Reilly had been a priest for all his adult life. He wasn't one who came to the faith later after hardship, inspiration or revelation. Since he could remember, he'd always wanted to be a priest. He'd been a Father since 1907. Next year it would be sixty years he wore the collar.

Father O'Reilly wasn't just a priest. His responsibilities in the church were specific. He was an exorcist. The church usually would assign a Fractured to an exorcist, but he had always preferred, and he had reputation enough, to be allowed to select his Fractured from wherever he could find them. He discovered early on he often found them in asylums.

The modern, rational world didn't see things in the old ways. They turned their back to God, but in the process, also turned their back on things more sinister. And that didn't only mean the Devil and his disciples.

In California, Father O'Reilly was well known and operated a network of priests who acted as his eyes and ears. They'd be called to hospitals, funerals, asylums, schools, and other places where people needed the comfort their faith provided. They'd then report back anything unusual. Some knew of the Order of the Shattered Cross, others didn't, but they all reported regardless. He asked specifically to tell him of people who appear otherwise normal but speak of seeing things no one else could see.

Timothy Augustine was one such man.

"Tell me more about him. His history. His background," Father O'Reilly requested.

"Korean War veteran, purple heart recipient. After the war he worked for the Pinkertons. Union busting, political dirt sniffer, corporate espionage, and the like. Alfred Hitchcock once used them to guard the entrance of movie theaters when his film Psycho was released. Are you allowed to watch films?"

"Yes, we're allowed to watch films, sir. I'm Catholic, not Mormon," Father O'Reilly replied with a warm smile. He was also intrigued that this potential Fractured had experience in investigation. "And Hitchcock hired them because he didn't want the surprise at the beginning of the film to be spoiled by people showing up late and missing it." Father O'Reilly was an avid film lover. He appreciated art. "Family?"

"Both parents died in his youth. His father fighting Japan and his mother making the weapons to fight Japan. He lived with his grandmother for a time, but she died shortly after his return from Korea. No siblings. No other family."

"What are the characteristics of his condition?"

"He talks to himself like he's talking to others who aren't there. No therapy or treatment has been effective. Nothing makes him not see or hear what he claims," the orderly replied.

They entered a large open room where patients were shuffling around in slippers and loose-fitting robes. Some were making puzzles. Others were sitting and watching television with drool running down their chins. Some were shouting to themselves. Others, biting their nails to the bone. Some had mittens so they couldn't do that anymore.

All of them had the same vacant stares. Like their minds left their bodies decades ago, but the engine was left on so the car just sits idle until the gas runs out.

One man sat alone in the corner, facing the spot where the walls converged with two chairs orientated toward himself. He looked over his shoulder when he heard someone enter the room and made eye contact with Father O'Reilly. He looked like most of the patients with slippers and robes. He hadn't had a proper shave and haircut for some time. But his eyes told the real story. The man's gaze wasn't absent of life. It was still sharp, perceptive, angry, with a tinge of helplessness.

The spark in Timothy's eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"May I speak with him alone?" Father O'Reilly asked.

"I need to at least be in the room," the orderly replied.

"Is he violent?"

"Not particularly," he replied. "He's had several episodes, but they're isolated."

"I'll be fine, but please, as private as possible," Father O'Reilly requested, and the orderly nodded to confirm he understood.

Father O'Reilly made his way across the room, stopping twice to avoid the collision from a patient who didn't appear to notice him, and another who was spinning absentmindedly like a child trying to make himself dizzy. He arrived and stood five feet from the man's right shoulder.

"Mr. Augustine?" Father O'Reilly asked.

"Fuck you priest," Timothy replied without turning. "They've given up medicine and now want to exorcise me."

"I assure you that's not why I'm here."

"I wasn't talking to...never mind," Timothy replied, and O'Reilly smiled.

"May I sit?" he asked. "I'll find another chair."

"Why? Two empty ones right here," Timothy replied, gesturing flippantly with his hands.

"You and I both know those chairs are not empty," Father O'Reilly said, and Timothy slowly looked over his shoulder. "May I?"

Timothy didn't know why he knew what he knew. Something in his gut. He had spent so long being looked at with doubting eyes, he didn't know how to respond when the eyes didn't disbelieve. Did this man know something? Could he see them, too?

"Sure," Timothy said softly, and watching the Priest drag a chair over from a table and positioned it into the corner facing Timothy. "Who are you?"

"Father Neville O'Reilly," he replied.

"You don't sound Irish," Timothy said.

"We are a nation of immigrants, are we not?" he asked, and Timothy shrugged. "What are their names?"

"Whose names?" Timothy asked, and Father O'Reilly gestured toward the empty chairs. "Come on man," Timothy scoffed. "I'm fucking crazy. Don't play into it."

"I'm more open minded than I look," Father O'Reilly said.

Timothy sighed and pressed his palms into his dirty bearded face. He ran them upwards and ran his fingers through his long, matted brown hair. He inhaled harshly, and exhaled full lungs of air in a second.

"A little girl and a Priest," Timothy replied.

"Names?" he asked again.

"Does it matter?"

"It could."

"The girl has never told me her name," Timothy said while looking at the chair to his right.

"The Priest?" he inquired. "Mr. Augustine, I've been a Father for almost sixty years. I may know him," he said, and Timothy laughed. "What?"

"Jesus Christ, maybe you need to be in here with me," Timothy said.

"Maybe I should. I also believe in something no one can see as well. What's his name?" Father O'Reilly said, and Timothy finally relented.

"He was my Chaplain in Korea. Father Johan Weber," Timothy replied, and watched as Father O'Reilly slowly smiled and looked to his right, Timothy's left. "Don't tell me you knew him."

"He was an infantryman in Italy and Sicily and found the church after the war. He operated a small chapel in Idaho before Korea. He died at Chipyong-ni. I knew him. He was a good man," Father O'Reilly said.

Timothy had doubts.

"Any half-assed PI could have gotten that information," Timothy said, and Father O'Reilly smiled. "You did research on me before you came here."

"Admittedly, some," Father O'Reilly confirmed. "Ask him if he knows me."

"He says he does, but why would I listen to my imaginary friend?"

"Johan," Father O'Reilly said, facing the chair. "Tell him something only I would know. You know what I speak of."

Timothy scoffed again and faced the chair. A silent voice told him something, and his face slowly expressed shock. Something he never knew of his Chaplain. The man's greatest shame. Surely if Father O'Reilly knew this, he not only knew Johan, but Johan was truly there in some form. Timothy was shaking, knowing this would prove he wasn't insane.

"What's his daughter's name?" Timothy asked.

"Rosaline," Father O'Reilly said, and Timothy's eyes widened. "She was born in Milan in 1945, from an affair he had as a soldier on leave. I watch her to this day, a request he made of me, and other Priests, in case the war claimed him. Johan, it will please you to know she's well, and is attending University in Rome."

"It's real? He's real? She's real?" Timothy asked.

"You died in Korea?" Father O'Reilly asked, and Timothy nodded.

"For a moment."

"Your soul left your body and came back with a few passengers. You can see more than just them, can't you?" Father O'Reilly asked, and Timothy nodded.

"I talk to people here who died years ago. They speak with more clarity than they ever did in life. Like a burden was lifted," Timothy said. "What am I?"

"When you died, and came back, you became a Fractured. You can see into something known as the between. That purgatory between life and the beyond. You can see those who haven't passed over or refuse to. You can also see things that don't belong here, much like yourself. You do not belong here."

Timothy swallowed, trembling, wondering if the truth was worse than the assumed delusion. Surely anything was better than here. The electroshock. The medications and other drugs. The loneliness. Being a sane person around the insane, made him believe he was one of them.

"Why are you here?" Timothy asked.

"I'm an exorcist, Timothy," Father O'Reilly said, and waited for a reply that didn't come. Timothy just listened. "Exorcists do not work alone. We work with Fractured. They, you, can see the things we can't. I am in need of a new Fractured, and I am willing to get you out of here."

"How?"

"Let me worry about that," Father O'Reilly replied, and Timothy looked over his shoulder. It only took a moment for him to make up his mind.

"Hurry."

"It'll take a few days, but rest assured, you are leaving," Father O'Reilly said and handed him his bible. "So you know I'm coming back."

Timothy held the bible in his hand and didn't watch as Father O'Reilly walked back to the orderly who escorted him out. Timothy ran his fingers across the cover of the bible. A book he had never read, and never cared to. Where was God in war? Where was God when his parents died? Where was God when his grandmother beat him? Where was God to stop Oppenheimer?

If the only person who knew he wasn't insane was a man who carried this book with him, surely there must be something to it. He cracked the book open to the first page. Genesis 1:1. He read aloud, but in a hushed voice so as not to be heard.

"In the beginning God created the heavens and the Earth."

--

Sister Frost stepped back through the doorway that vanished into nothingness the moment she stepped through the breach. It made an unusual popping sound as it did, making her jump in surprise. Indigo and Annette were still in the chamber, and turned when they heard the pop and only saw a naked nun wearing nothing but a coat that hardly managed to provide any modesty.

"Sister," Indigo said and ran over and hugged her. "Thank Lilith. What happened?"

Sister Frost closed her eyes to collect herself as Indigo released her and stepped back.

"Flauros has been dealt with," Sister Frost said, and Indigo nodded.

"Well done. It doesn't appear that it happened easily," Indigo said and touched the fabric of the coat to get an idea of its properties. "Don't move."

Indigo's eyes shined blue, and the coat unraveled from Sister Frost's body, but restructured itself into a black skater dress. It concealed her better than the coat, but the presentation of her breasts cleavage made her anxious. Her legs revealed beneath her mid-thighs made her knees touch instinctually. Her bare arms felt cold without her sleeves. Appearing beautiful in a form fitting dress felt more vulnerable than being naked.

"Could you cover me a little more?" Sister Frost asked.

"I have to work with the material I have," Indigo said, understanding her hesitancy.

The door Eterna entered was suddenly thrust open and Timothy's body ran through. She turned back and rammed the door shut, but several hands burst through the opening before it could close. They grabbed at Timothy's body as she pressed its full weight against it, struggling to hold back the Void.

"Help me!" Eterna screamed, and all three women jumped into action.

Indigo rammed the door at another location while Annette tried to magically push them back. One Void managed to wriggle its head through the door, snarling as it tried to shove its way past like a rabid animal.

"Wind can touch it!" Indigo shouted, so Annette sent a gust into the doorway, knocking back several hands, but the one almost through was able to claw its way out. The door slammed shut but the Void pounced on Annette who struggled with it on the floor.

"Annette!" Indigo cried, but felt a horrifically powerful thud against the door, so couldn't move unless she desired to fight more of them.

Annette spun the creature to its back, but it easily overpowered her and sent her sprawling across the floor. Just before it lunged, Sister Frost grabbed the sides of its head with both hands. It shrieked, its face contorting in pain before it suddenly went silent and crumbled into dust.

"Break the connection!" Eterna said, and Indigo nodded. She continued to press her back against the door as she focused on severing the path between the doors. The door thudded again and was starting to open. "Hurry!"

"Keep it closed, or I can't," Indigo said in a voice stressed through exertion.

"Open it," Sister Frost said.

"What?" Annette asked.

"Open it," Sister Frost repeated. She readied herself, closing her eyes, hoping to hear her voice. Hoping she would listen to her. She positioned herself directly in front of the door and nodded to Eterna and Indigo.

"We go right," Eterna said to Indigo who understood. "One, two, three."

They both dove to the right and the door was thrown open. A torrent poured in, but crashed against a burst of light that forced them back. Indigo couldn't believe what she saw. Sister Frost was now cloaked in a robe. She had black angelic wings, with an ever-watching eye on each joint. Demonic horns curved upwards from her forehead. An illuminating halo shined brightly. In her left hand was a sword.

The Black Winged Angel pointed her sword at the Void which clung to whatever shadow it could find beyond the door. None dared approach.

"All of nothing, and one of everything will clash," Indigo whispered to herself as the Black Winged Angel flew through the door with such force, they were all thrown off their feet and crashed to the ground.

Eterna scrambled to Timothy's feet and rammed the door shut.

"She released them?" Annette asked. Eterna fell to Timothy's knees and nodded. "Is it too late?"

"You need to seal the doors. All of them," Eterna said, and Indigo shook her head.

"There are hundreds of witches beyond those doors. I'd be sentencing them all to death," Indigo said.

"You're sentencing the world to death if you don't," Eterna replied.

"Indigo," Annette said to get her attention. "We may not have a choice. What would your mother do?"

Indigo had seen what her mother would do in the face of death. She walked over to the door Timothy's soul went through and opened it. They were immediately greeted with the snarling sounds of Voids and burst of magic as the witches fought for their lives. Her sisters were fighting valiantly. She would do no less than them.

"My mother would fight to the bitter end," Indigo said and closed the door behind her.

Annette looked at Eterna who shook her head, openly refusing to go after her.

"She needs to close the doors, or we're all dead," Eterna said.

"Then let it be an honorable death," Annette said and entered the door next.

Eterna looked at the door, and listened as the quiet from it closing slowly grew until it was silent again.

"You fools," Eterna said.

Timothy was beyond that door and was by far the most vulnerable person behind it. Yet when it opened, he rushed inside. Indigo could have closed the doors, surely killing all the witches inside, but buying herself more time, but she was through the door. Annette was beyond the door. Over two hundred witches were beyond their doors, fighting for not just their lives, but the lives of the entire world.

"Remember," Eterna heard a voice say. She scanned the room and saw no one.

"Who's there?"

"If you cannot find a way, do not hesitate," the voice said.

"Eve?" Eterna asked. "We will find a way!"

"Then get up and find it," Eve said, and her voice echoing before dying out.

Eterna jumped to her feet, paused at the door, but for only a second, before she pulled it open and ran inside.

--

Timothy dodged the Void as it chased him throughout the chamber. He kept it away from the witches while they worked. He'd fly wall to wall, take sudden dives, and sharp turns to keep it distracted.

Three witches remained on guard, while the others worked to remove the enchantments from a glass coffin. They were incredibly complex, and certainly placed there by an extremely powerful witch. The glass itself appeared to be the creation of sand made molten by magic. The presence of holy water was disrupting their ability to properly analyze it. They soon came to conclusion that wasn't a coincidence. Holy water interfered with magic, but apparently had no effect on the enchantments themselves.

"I can't keep my power on it, the holy water is dispelling it," Nica said as she struggled to maintain any force against it. "It's rebounding, I can't attack it."

"Then how are the enchantments staying?" another witch asked.

"What are the conditions of the enchantment?" another asked.

"I can't read the intent of the witch who created it," Nica said, and hunched down, holding her body up by placing her hands on her knees. The exertion of her magic was starting to take a physical toll. "It's too powerful."

"Progress?" Timothy asked as he flew past them, the Void chasing him.

"It's too powerful, and the holy water is disrupting our magic, so I can't even read it!" Nica shouted back so he'd hear.

"Then cast another enchantment over it!" Timothy shouted as fled back the other way.

"What will that do?" one witch asked.

"I know what he means," Nica said and stood upright again. She focused all her magic, all her power on one enchantment. She made no attempt to devise a means for it to stay, because it didn't need to. In fact, she counted on it being pushed away.

She focused on an enchantment to enhance the other enchantments. The others could draw power from this enchantment. The enchantments would become entwined. If her enchantment were to be to be pushed away, it would ensnare and take the others with it.