The Final Cadence

by A.R. Marquez 2 years ago in fiction

Chapter 1 - Enter the Adversary

The Final Cadence

Previous installments in the series:


Chapter 1 –

  • The Plague Doctor
  • Insurrection Of Providence

Silent shadows crept across the floor as the starkness of the deepening gray skies progressed into night. The old oak pews were tall and dark as they sat in the shadows of the cathedral.

The church was still occasionally used by the council although a faint layer of dust lay over the surface of the pews and the empty altar, suggesting the cathedral had not been used for some time. And despite the steel barriers across all the windows, the cathedral still held a warm aura for its patrons when times seemed even more dire than normal. The pews were well maintained and kept clean, the floor was of minimal mess, and all of the liturgical books and hymn sheets were carefully in their place behind each bench.

Along the center aisle that split the pews, remains of decaying orchid petals danced about in a light breeze brought upon by the small crevices within the makeshift barriers of the windows. Echoes of the petal’s soft patter ran away with the moonlight. The air was thick with a presence unbeknownst to this somnolent world.

Beyond the entrance door, a figure appeared from the shadow of the pillars. Cloaked in a black scabbard-like robe, the figure slowly made its way up to the altar in a levitating-like promenade between the pews. The petals that lay strewn on the floor inexplicably conceded from under it, as if afraid to lay below its buoyant hover.

A pulsing sound, akin to a heartbeat, filled the room in a cathartic rush. The books and hymn sheets inexplicably became ajar from their places and danced about the pews in a haphazard fashion. A low electrical synthesizer-like hum followed the pulsing beat, moving in and out of existence. A wind of unknown origin gathered the loose sheets of paper and scattered them about the area.

The figure stopped in the middle of the aisle and brought the hood of the robe back. Strands of black hair fell from its keep and lay aside the face of a beautiful young woman, carrying a gaze like that of a lost seafarer looking into the horizon for an island with forsaken hope. The pages of the ancient text fluttered about her beautiful features but she was unfazed.

She continued to drift over the floor towards the altar, her feet never touching the ground and her stare alluring with oblivion black irises. An iota of dampness glazed her lips. She lifted into the air, arms outstretched, and gently glided over the altar. The air smelled of decaying flowers and stale Holy Water. With her arms outstretched, she slipped to the stone floor and turned to sit in the reserved seat of the cleric facing the vastness of the cathedral.

All at once the pulsing rhythm that controlled the room were gone. The low, reverbed hum began to dissipate into the now still air. The only sound was the torn pages of the books and pamphlets settling amidst the vestiges of the ground to their final resting place.

The cloaked woman did not blink. She did not breathe nor sigh. The languidness of her gaze was of a dreamlike quality. Peaceful and calm-like on the surface, but venomous and deadly underneath it all. Similar to the waves of an ocean she once knew under reckoning skies.

This Manuscript: © 2018 Legion Media LLC

A.R. Marquez
A.R. Marquez
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A.R. Marquez

Adam Ray Marquez was born and raised in Northern California.

He writes and publishes Surreal Free Verse poetry, fiction, horror-fiction, and is the Editor-In-Chief at The Dead Walk.

He played guitar for Held In Scorn.

Instagram = @AtraxMors

See all posts by A.R. Marquez