The Choir of Shadows

Moonlight traced silver across Rom’s armor as he stood in the churchyard, the steeple rising like a finger pointing homeward. The choir’s hymn drifted through stained glass, voices warm and strong against a restless night. Brandy Clark, her coat tight against the chill, watched Rom’s visor for some sign of ease, but found only the same reflective mask. Inside, the music was sweeter than expected. Brandy found herself mouthing the words, falling in with neighbors—Mr. Eaton, humming baritone, and Mrs. Haskins, the town’s alto. Yet something crawled beneath the melody, a harmony that didn’t quite belong. She glanced to Rom, standing at the rear, unmoving but not unfeeling. When the last note faded, the choir leader gestured them to gather in a rough circle for the closing prayer. Brandy’s ears pricked. Eaton’s voice was clear in the group, but then—she caught it again, that odd doubling. She turned, and saw Mrs. Haskins’s lips move in perfect sync with Eaton’s line. A chill ran through her: two voices, one phrase, a harmony that should be impossible. She stepped to Rom, whispering, “The voices—they’re not right. Eaton and Haskins. It’s like… two people singing the same words at once.” Rom’s visor glowed faintly, shadows playing over the pews. “Dire Wraiths do not care for music, but they delight in mimicry. They have nested here.” His hand lingered over the Neutralizer. The weapon’s shape, metallic and final, cast a long shadow across the choir’s feet. He stepped forward, voice ringing with the weight of worlds. “Your choir is a nest of monsters.” Faces turned, confusion shifting to fear. Brandy wanted to stop him, but knew there was no turning back. The Neutralizer thrummed, its light a cold, unmasking dawn. He fired, the beam cutting moon-bright through the congregation. Shadows twisted, some forms melting to reveal the crimson and ash of Dire Wraiths. Others—neighbors, friends—stumbled aside, untouched but frightened by what they saw. Brandy shielded her eyes, remembering every Sunday she’d sung with these people. Mrs. Haskins’s true form reared, horned crown rising, shrieking. The others joined her, a discordant chorus. Rom faced them, neutralizer blazing, as Brandy pressed back against the altar rail, tears stinging. The townsfolk who remained could only stare, faith crumbling in the presence of impossible truth. When the last light faded, only Rom stood, battered but unbowed. Brandy crossed to him. Voices echoed outside—sirens, running feet. The townsfolk huddled, eyes wide, not trusting the silver giant who’d saved them, nor the human woman who still stood by his side. “I had to do it,” Rom said, softly. “Even if it costs me what little trust remains.” Brandy took his hand, feeling the cold metal, and squeezed. “You’re not alone.” From the choir loft, the Wraithqueen watched, her yellow eyes unreadable in the shifting dark.

Comic