The Breach

The Breach

Entry #1: June 1, 2025

Location: Somewhere in the Nevada Desert

The sky bled red tonight, like God Himself had torn open a vein. I'm crouched in the ruins of an old gas station, the air thick with dust and something......heavier. Evil, maybe. My hands are still shaking from the fight. There were three of them – those shadow-things with eyes like oil slicks – came for me at dusk. I drove my blade through one, whispered the old words, and it screamed like a soul being ripped asunder. The other two fled. For now.

I am not crazy. I know what I am. What I felt. The Voice told me to come here, to this forsaken stretch of nowhere. “Seek the breach,” it said. “Seal it, or it all falls.” I don't what the breach is, but every step I take, the air grows colder, the ground hums under my boots. Something's waking up. Something old.

My cross is burning against my chest again. Not metaphorical burning – actual heat. It's been like this since the Voice had started three months ago. Mom's old Bible is in my pack, dog-eared at Revelation. I keep reading it, hoping for answers, but all I get is more questions. Why me? Why now? I'm just a nobody from Boise, a mechanic who barely made it through high school. Not exactly Joan of Arc.

I hear howling in the distance. Not coyotes. I need to move. God, if You're listening, give me strength. Or, at least, a sign I'm not walking into my own grave.

Entry #2: June 3, 2025

Location: Abandoned Mining Town, Nevada

I found it. The breach. It's not a place – it's a thing. A jagged tear in the air, floating above the altar of a crumbling church in this ghost town. It pulses like a heartbeat, leaking black mist that smells like Sulphur and despair. I ended up getting too close and my head filled with whispers. Not the Voice – but something else, more sinister. It offered me power, peace, and everything I have ever wanted. All I had to do was kneel.

I didn't. I threw my knife instead. Stupid, maybe, but it felt right. The blade sank into the mist, and the breach screamed. The ground shook, and I ran. I'm hiding in a miner's shack now, my cross is so hot it's blistering my skin. I keep thinking about David and Goliath. One stone, one shot. But I don't have a sling, all I've got is Mom's Bible and a stubborn streak.

The shadow-things are back. More of them. I saw at least six circling the church, their claws scraping the dirt. They're guarding it. Or waiting for something to come through. I don't know how to close the breach, but I do know I have to try. The Voice hasn't spoken since I got here. I'm starting to wonder if it was God at all, or something else playing a long game.

I am low on water and don't have any food. My left arm's bleeding from where one of those things grazed me. The wound is black at the edges and it won't stop throbbing. If I die here, no one will know. No one will care. But I keep seeing Mom's face, telling me to “fight the fight no one else wants.” So I will. Tomorrow, I go back to that church.

Entry #3: June 4, 2025

Location: The Church

I'm alive. Barely. The breach is closed but I don't know if I did the right thing.

This morning, I walked into that church like I was storming hell itself. The shadow-things came at me, all teeth and claws. I fought them off with my knife and a crow bar I found in the shack. With every swing, I prayed. Not those fancy prayers – just “Help me, God, please don't let me die.” The cross burned brighter and somehow, I was faster, stronger. Like something was fighting through me.

I reached the altar. The breach was bigger, spitting out tendrils of black mist that tried to wrap around me. The whispers were louder, promising me a world without pain. I almost broke. Then I remembered Mom reading to me as a kid: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

I didn't have a plan. I just acted. I tore open Mom's bible, pressed it against the Breach, and shouted every holy word I could think of. The air exploded. Light – blinding and searing – poured out of the Bible, out of me. The breach collapsed in on itself, and the shadow-things burned away.

When I came to, the church was quiet. The altar was cracked, my Bible charred. My cross was cold for the first time in months. I should feel victorious, but I don't. The Voice is gone. The wound on my arm is worse, spreading like ink. And I keep hearing Mom's voice, faint, saying, “it's not over.”

Entry #4: June 6, 2025

Location: On the Road, Heading East.

I'm driving a beat up truck I hot wired in the ghost town. The radio's busted, so it's just me and my thoughts. The wounds stopped spreading, but it's still black, like a tattoo of something unholy. I don't know what's happening to me.

Last night, I dreamed of another breach, bigger, in a city I didn't recognize. Skyscrapers, neon lights, people screaming. I woke up with my cross warm again. Not burning, just......awake. I don't know if it's a warning or a call.

I keep thinking about faith. Not the Sunday school kind, but the kind that makes you charge into a fight you can't win because you believe it matters. That's what got me through the desert. That is what's keeping me going now. I don't know where I'm headed, but I know I am not done.

If anyone finds this, if I don't make it, know this: I fought. I believed. And whatever is coming, I'm ready.

End.