His heart dropped.

The wooden doors creaked shut behind him.

A stream of dark blood trickled across the floor, pooling around his boots.

Bodies littered the nave. Half the congregation had been devoured, torn apart and reduced to little more than scraps.

The demon stood at the ambo, drenched in gore. His deformed head lolled back in a rapturous ecstasy as he basked in the light pouring through the stained-glass, splashed with red.

It was a bloodbath.

A handful of survivors huddled in the far corner, staring at Dante with equal parts terror and hope.

“Ah,” a raspy voice echoed through the hall, “the hound has come.”

At gunpoint, the demon slowly lowered his head and folded over the ambo. 

“Your human mistress left too many traces. And you…” 

He bared his sharp teeth and drew a long, deliberate breath, digging his claws into the hardwood.

“...you smell just like her.”

The grin vanished from his twisted face, leaving nothing but hatred. 

“Disgusting.”