Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Welcome To Hell, I'm The Devil.

Chapter four.

by deaths-destruction 5 Reviews

Finding another person. Who could it be? And who's that fighting up there? So many questions!

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters:  - Published: 2010/07/17 - Updated: 2010/07/17 - 1332 words

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A/N: Holy crapola~~ I'm back momentarily. I haven't updated this story in forever. I wonder why I neglected it... Even I don't know. Special thanks to ValentineRevenge for actually reviewing and making me realize that this story's not dead. :] Enjoyyyy~~

They arrived at what used to be a house after an hour of walking. Now it was merely the shell of a house. Jon wiped sweat off his forehead. It certainly was sweltering. As if they were in a huge furnace going full blast.

“Okay, we’re here. Now what?” Spencer asked.

“I have no idea. I thought there would be,” Ryan paused. “More to it,” he finished and waved his arms around in a circle at the wreckage.

“Whatever this is,” Spencer imitated the movement. “It doesn’t help.”

“Oh, shut up. Do you have a better idea? Look around!” Ryan shouted. He turned in a circle. “There’s nothing. Nothing at all! Just rock and desert and fire!”

“Guys, calm down before you start fighting,” Jon cut in.

Spencer was about to reply with something witty and sarcastic, but a scream stopped him in mid mouth movement. They all looked over in the direction of where the scream came from. What could that be now? A chilling, ominous laugh followed the scream.

“My guess is we go that way,” Ryan said.

“Are you fucking nuts? You want to go towards the crazy laugh?” Spencer asked incredulously.

“Yes.”

“Ryan, I think that wound on your head might have killed half your brain.”

“Where else do you presume we go?” Ryan asked. He did the gesture where he spun with his arms outstretched to emphasize that there was no where.

“I’d rather go back to that cell and wait because when Brendon finds us, we’re screwed,” Spencer replied. He crossed his arms.

“Fine. You go wait for the creepy devil Brendon. Alone,” Ryan said. He walked off. Jon shrugged and followed. Spencer whimpered. “Damn it,” he muttered. “Wait up!” Spencer ran and quickly came up to their side. He walked beside them.

They came upon a form laying in the dirt. It didn’t seem to be moving. But who was it? Ryan gasped as he saw tattoos. Well, that could only be only person. They walked up to the form and still saw no movement.

“Fuck. Brendon killed Pete,” Ryan said.

“Dude. Is he really dead?” Jon asked.

“If he’s here, wouldn’t he be dead?” Spencer asked.

“I dunno,” Jon shrugged.

Pause.

“Poke it,” Jon said.

“I’m not poking it. You poke it,” Spencer said. He stood slightly behind Jon.

“It’s Pete. He’s dead. He won’t care if we poke his corpse,” Jon said. “So just poke it.”

“Why are you guys calling Pete an it?” Ryan asked.

“Dude, have you seen him? He’s an it,” Jon replied.

“I can hear you, you know,” Pete muttered.

Spencer jumped and clutched onto Jon’s shirt. Jon gave him a confused look and tried to claim his shirt back from Spencer’s death grip while Pete sat up.

“Where the hell is this?” Pete asked.

“That’s it. It’s hell,” Ryan replied.

Pete looked up at him. “No it’s not. I’m not dead.”

“Fight it all you want, man. You’re dead,” Jon said. “Spencer, let go of my shirt!”

Spencer reluctantly let go and stood back.

“I can’t be dead. Who killed me?” Pete asked, suddenly sounding angry.

“We think Brendon’s been killing us, but we don’t know why,” Ryan explained.

“Fuck. Wait ‘til I get my hands on that bitch,” Pete seethed as he got up. He brushed off the dirt from his clothes. As if it would help. He was covered in the dirt from around.

“How did you die?” Jon asked.

Pete shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked down at his body. There wasn’t any visible trauma.

“You’re not breathing,” Ryan noticed.

“So? I guess I‘m dead. Why do I need to breathe?” Pete asked.

“You suffocated, then,” Ryan suggested.

“He could have drown,” Jon argued.

“Or hung without snapping his neck,” Spencer inputted.

“Guys, I don’t really give a fuck how I died. I want to know why I died and stop Brendon’s bitch ass from killing anyone else,” Pete cut in.

“Well, how do we find Brendon is the real question,” Ryan said.

Spencer cowered downwards. He whimpered.

“I don’t know. He’s hyper and annoying. Where do hyper and annoying people go?” Pete asked.

“Guys…” Spencer squeaked.

“Maybe he’s in some castle thing somewhere,” Jon suggested.

“A castle thing in hell? Where are we, in some fantasy land?” Ryan scoffed.

“What? There could be a castle in hell,” Jon defended.

“I doubt it. I would guess a volcano before I guessed a castle,” Ryan said.

“Ross, just shut up. Nobody cares about you,” Jon retorted.

Spencer pulled on Jon’s shirt sleeve. “Jonnnn…”

“Spencer, what did I tell you about pulling on my freaking shirt?” Jon asked.

“But this is important.”

“That doesn’t mean you pull on the shirt and stretch it more,” Jon said.

“I promise you, you won’t care about your shirt,” Spencer whimpered.

“And why is that?” Jon asked. He looked at Spencer.

“Because of that.” Spencer pointed upwards.

They all paused and craned their necks upwards. The sight was almost beautiful, but chilling at the same time. A black, bloodied raven as large as a tank fought against an equally large, bloodied white dove. It was just a mass of wings and feathers if one were to quickly glance at it.

“What the hell is that?” Pete asked.

“Well, it looks like two birds fighting,” Jon said.

“Thank you captain obvious,” Ryan muttered.

“He asked what it was. I was just replying,” Jon said firmly.

Both of the birds’ forms suddenly changed. The white one turned into Brendon, while the black one turned into none other than Patrick. They both looked normal. Well, as normal as they could look. Brendon held a large sword in his hands. A belt around his waist showed quite a few daggers sparkling. He had a golden glow about him and two protruding horns from his forehead. His ears, nails, and teeth were pointed. His eyes burned gold. A tail snaked out from behind him with the telltale point on the end. Patrick was a different story. He held a mace in one hand and a whip wrapped around his waist. A black miasma surrounded him. He had a small black halo over his head. His eyes smoldered onyx. Both had large wings on their back with their respective colors of gold or black.

“Okay, um, isn’t Brendon the bad one?” Jon asked.

“I think so. He said he killed us,” Ryan said.

“Then why is Brendon all white and golden and Patrick is all black and creepy?” Jon asked.

“I have no fucking idea,” Ryan sighed.

The two clashed. Snarls and growls were heard. Lightning branched out through the poisonous clouds like horrible veins.

“Another question,” Jon said.

“What is it this time?” Ryan asked.

“When did Patrick die and become savior, or whatever the heck he is up there?” Jon asked.

“Why do you keep asking questions that no one knows the freakin’ answer to?” Ryan asked.

“Actually, I think I know the answer to that one,” Pete mumbled.

They all tore their sight away from the fight in the sky and looked at Pete.

“You do?” Ryan asked.

Pete nodded. “Yeah. It’s… a long story, though.”

“We’re dead. We have the time,” Jon said.

A/N: Don't we all hate cliffhangers? Sorry, guys, Imma have to leave it here so I can get some sleep. It's uber late and I have to get up uber early. Not a good combo. Leave me some love here and maybe you'll get a new chapter fastaaaa. Night, lovelys. :]
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