The elevator plunged past floors that shouldn't exist, carrying me toward whatever theological nightmare awaited in the deepest circle of this concrete hell. The air grew thick with incense and something else—the metallic tang of old blood mixed with fervent devotion that made my medical training scream warnings.
**[SYSTEM ALERT: SSS+ PRIORITY WARNING]**
**[SUBJECT 04 - FATHER ELIJAH: CLASSIFIED AS "DO NOT PERCEIVE"]**
**[CRITICAL ADVISORY: IMMEDIATE EVACUATION RECOMMENDED]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL CONTAMINATION RISK: MAXIMUM]**
**[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 12%]**
*Do not perceive? What kind of cosmic horror bullshit is that supposed to mean? And twelve percent survival rate? I've had worse odds during flu season.*
But my mortgage wasn't going to pay itself, and I'd come too far to back down now. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime that sounded disturbingly like funeral bells tolling for the damned.
The corridor beyond was carved from black stone that seemed to absorb light, lined with statues of martyred saints whose faces had been deliberately obscured by shadow. Each figure writhed in eternal agony, their suffering captured in exquisite detail that made my stomach turn and my professional instincts recoil in horror.
At the end of the hallway stood massive doors carved with scenes of religious ecstasy and torment that hurt to look at directly. Angels and demons intertwined in ways that violated several laws of physics and probably a few commandments.
**[LIVESTREAM - VIEWERS: 7,892,347]**
→ @BloodRose_666: THOSE CARVINGS ARE DEFINITELY MOVING I'M NOT IMAGINING IT
→ @ChaosQueen: Religious horror hits different when it's this detailed and wrong
→ @ShadowLord donated 1,000,000 credits: "COSMIC HORROR PRIEST INCOMING"
→ @OmegaLover: Why do I suddenly feel the urge to confess every sin I've ever committed?
→ @Anonymous_7749: The viewer count keeps climbing this is insane
I pushed open the doors, and the hinges screamed like dying angels being torn from heaven.
The space beyond defied every law of architecture and common sense—a miniature cathedral that somehow felt vast as the universe itself. Stained glass windows depicted scenes that shifted and writhed when I wasn't looking directly at them, and the air itself seemed to whisper prayers in languages that predated human speech by eons.
At the altar knelt a figure in pristine white robes that seemed to glow with their own inner light. Father Elijah—Subject 04—didn't turn when I entered, but his voice filled the impossible space like smoke seeping through the cracks in reality.
"Welcome, little doctor," he said, words bypassing my ears entirely and speaking directly into the primitive parts of my brain that still remembered when humans were prey. "I've been expecting you for so very long."
The psychic assault hit like a tsunami of whispered promises. Not the crude mental battering I'd experienced with the others, but something far more insidious—silk-wrapped razors sliding through my consciousness, offering peace and purpose if I would just kneel and surrender.
*Submit. Offer your soul to something greater than yourself. Let go of the burden of choice.*
My sanity meter plummeted like a stone dropped into an abyss. The whispers grew louder, more insistent, weaving through my thoughts like parasites seeking a host.
**[SYSTEM WARNING: SANITY LEVEL CRITICAL - 23% AND FALLING RAPIDLY]**
**[PSYCHOLOGICAL DEFENSES COMPROMISED]**
**[RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE RETREAT BEFORE—]**
"You're too loud," I interrupted, cutting off both the system's panic and the priest's mental invasion with the kind of irritation reserved for noisy neighbors.
I reached into my medical bag and pulled out a pair of industrial-grade noise-canceling headphones—the kind used by airport ground crews who valued their hearing more than their dignity. They went over my ears with a satisfying *click* that muffled the psychic whispers to a manageable hum.
Then I pulled out my phone and hit play on a very special playlist I'd prepared for exactly this kind of situation.
The opening notes of "Great Compassion Mantra (DJ Heavy Metal Remix)" exploded through the headphones at maximum volume. Buddhist chanting mixed with death metal guitars created a wall of sound that made Elijah's cosmic whispers sound like mice squeaking in a hurricane.
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @BloodRose_666: DID HE JUST COUNTER PSYCHIC ATTACKS WITH DEATH METAL BUDDHISM?!
→ @ChaosQueen: RELIGIOUS WARFARE AT ITS FINEST I'M LITERALLY SCREAMING
→ @ShadowLord: The absolute disrespect of drowning out cosmic horror with music
→ @Anonymous_0001 donated 5,000,000 credits: "MOST CREATIVE DEFENSE IN HUMAN HISTORY"
→ @OmegaLover: He's treating eldritch horror like a noise complaint I'M DYING
Elijah's head snapped up for the first time, revealing a face of terrible beauty marred by empty eye sockets that wept tears of liquid silver. His mouth opened in shock, then twisted into something that might have been rage or possibly arousal—with cosmic horror priests, it was often hard to tell the difference.
He rose from his knees with fluid grace that defied gravity and began walking toward me, lips moving in what I assumed were higher-tier incantations designed to unmake reality itself. The air around him shimmered with malevolent energy that made my skin crawl and my medical instruments rattle in their cases.
But as he drew closer, I caught a whiff of his breath and my professional instincts overrode every survival mechanism I possessed.
*Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, when was the last time this guy brushed his teeth? That's not just halitosis, that's a biological weapon.*
The moment Elijah opened his mouth to deliver what was probably a reality-shattering psychic scream capable of driving mortals insane, I struck with the efficiency of someone who'd spent years dealing with patients with questionable hygiene and even worse attitudes.
A bottle of high-concentration medical alcohol spray appeared in my hand like a magician's trick. I shoved the nozzle between his lips with the precision of a combat medic and began pumping the trigger with the dedication of someone performing emergency oral surgery on a battlefield.
"Emergency oral hygiene protocol," I announced over the death metal still blasting in my ears. "Hold still and try not to swallow."
The effect was immediate and absolutely devastating. Elijah's empty eye sockets went wide with shock as medical-grade alcohol flooded his mouth and throat. He gagged, choked, and stumbled backward, his reality-bending psychic assault completely disrupted by the burning sensation of industrial-strength antiseptic.
**[CHAT EXPLOSION]**
→ @OmegaLover: HE'S DISINFECTING THE COSMIC HORROR PRIEST I'M ACTUALLY DYING
→ @BloodRose_666: MEDICAL ALCOHOL AS A WEAPON AGAINST ULTIMATE EVIL
→ @ChaosQueen: The way he just casually mouth-violated a demon with sanitizer
→ @ShadowLord: "Emergency oral hygiene protocol" I'M SCREAMING WITH LAUGHTER
→ @Anonymous_7749: This is the most disrespectful thing I've ever witnessed and I'm here for it
But instead of the rage or indignation I expected from a cosmic horror being interrupted mid-incantation, something else entirely flickered across Elijah's beautiful, terrible features. His empty eye sockets seemed to focus on me with laser intensity, and his lips curved into a smile that was equal parts beatific and absolutely unhinged.
"More," he whispered, voice thick with something that definitely wasn't holy devotion. "Please... deeper purification. I need... I require more thorough cleansing."
He reached for my hands with desperate reverence, trying to guide the alcohol spray back toward his mouth like a junkie seeking another hit. There was something deeply wrong with the way he was looking at me—like I'd just awakened something that had been sleeping in the depths of his twisted psyche for centuries.
*Oh, hell no. I've accidentally activated some kind of religious masochist with a medical fetish. This is definitely not covered in my malpractice insurance.*
I pulled my hands free and stepped back, treating this like any other medical consultation that had gone sideways due to inappropriate patient behavior. Professional distance was absolutely key when dealing with patients who developed unhealthy attachments to their healthcare providers.
"Treatment complete," I announced, pulling out my phone to calculate fees with the same efficiency I'd use for any other billable procedure. "Oral cavity emergency deep cleaning: two hundred dollars. Psychological contamination hazard pay: one thousand. Emergency intervention surcharge: five hundred. Cosmic horror consultation fee: two thousand. Total: thirty-seven hundred dollars. Please submit this invoice to Warden Adam for immediate reimbursement."
I handed him the itemized bill with the same clinical detachment I'd use for any other patient, then turned and walked toward the exit with measured steps that suggested this was just another day at the office.
"Wait," Elijah called after me, voice carrying a note of desperate longing that made my skin crawl and my professional instincts scream warnings. "Don't leave yet. I need... I require further examination. More thorough treatment. Please..."
I didn't look back, but I could feel his empty gaze boring into my spine like physical weight. The sensation followed me all the way to the elevator, and even after the doors closed, I couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had changed in the cosmic order.
**[SYSTEM ALERT: UNKNOWN MARKING DETECTED ON SUBJECT]**
**[SCANNING... SCANNING... SCANNING...]**
**[ERROR: CLASSIFICATION FAILED - UNKNOWN ENTITY TYPE]**
**[WARNING: MARK APPEARS TO BE SPREADING]**
A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the facility's air conditioning. I caught my reflection in the elevator's polished steel doors and turned to check my back using the mirrored surface.
There, on the white fabric of my shirt, was a handprint. Not visible from the front, but clear as day in the reflection—a mark of absolute black that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The print was slowly spreading, seeping through the fabric like ink through paper, growing larger with each passing second.
**[LIVESTREAM CHAT]**
→ @Anonymous_User_001: YOU'VE BEEN MARKED BY SOMETHING BEYOND THE SYSTEM
→ @BloodRose_666: What the hell is that thing spreading on his back?!
→ @ChaosQueen: That's not from the system that's something else entirely
→ @ShadowLord: The priest marked him somehow during the encounter
→ @OmegaLover: This is bad this is very very bad
Behind me, through the closing elevator doors, I could hear Elijah's voice drifting through the cathedral like poisoned honey mixed with promises of damnation.
"Found you," he whispered to the empty air, tongue darting out to lick his lips in a gesture that was anything but holy. "My precious little doctor. You can run to the ends of the earth, but you're mine now. The mark will call you back to me, and when it does... we'll have such wonderful sessions together."
The elevator doors sealed shut with finality, cutting off his words, but the promise in his voice lingered like a curse that would follow me to my grave.
*Three down, three to go. And apparently, I've just been claimed by a cosmic horror priest with a medical fetish and abandonment issues.*
I looked at the spreading mark on my shirt and wondered if my health insurance covered supernatural stalking by eldritch beings.
Probably not. They barely covered regular therapy.