Shadows of Helvete

Chapter 1

1991

The dingy bar where Emilie Ahlgren worked was a small, dimly lit haven for young people, particularly metal fans seeking refuge from the biting cold of Oslo's unforgiving streets. The air inside was thick with the smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and sweat. It was far from glamorous, but it kept her mind occupied, away from thoughts of the past she tried so hard to bury.

The past that started with him.

Dead.

His real name was Per ''Pelle'' Yngve Ohlin, but no one called him that anymore. To the world, he was Dead, the vocalist who cut himself on stage and sang as though the sound came from the deepest, darkest corners of hell. To Emilie, though, he had always been more than that. He was her best friend since childhood, the one who understood the parts of her that no one else could. The love of her life. She had followed him to Norway, desperate to escape the horrors of home.

But now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the memories of those days. They haunted her like an unrelenting specter.

It was there in the bar, behind the counter, wiping down tables as she heard the familiar riffs of a Mayhem song echoing from the jukebox. The rawness of the sound pierced through her like a knife. She tensed, her hands freezing mid-wipe, the rag hanging loosely from her fingertips. She hadn't heard Mayhem in a long time—not since Pelle's death.

She swallowed hard, pushing down the well of grief that still bubbled inside her. The image of his lifeless body, his pale skin streaked with blood, was burned into her mind. His band mate, the founder of Mayhem, Euronymous, had found him first. He had taken those grotesque photos before even calling the police. Emilie still remembered the moment she heard about it—about how Euronymous had posed Pelle's body like some macabre work of art. She had screamed at him, fury ripping through her, but all Euronymous did was smile that cold, detached smile.

That was the day she left. She couldn't take the band, the madness, or him anymore.

Shaking her head, she forced herself to focus. The past was just that—the past. She wasn't part of that scene anymore. She was here, in Oslo, working a shitty job at a shitty bar, and that was enough.

Still, she couldn't help but feel a pull when she overheard a group of regulars at the bar talking about a new record shop that had opened nearby. Helvete. A place for metalheads, a sanctuary for the black metal scene that was still going strong despite all the controversies and whispers of violence.

The next day, after her shift ended, she decided to check out Helvete. She pulled her leather jacket tighter around herself, the chill biting at her skin as she made her way down the narrow streets of Oslo. The city was a labyrinth of concrete and stone, the grayness of the day reflecting her mood.

When she reached the shop, it wasn't what she expected. From the outside, Helvete looked like a small, unassuming building, almost like any other record store. But once inside, the atmosphere was different. Dark. The walls were painted black, and the space was filled with posters of bands, albums, and artwork that screamed rebellion and anti-establishment fervor. The air was thick with the scent of incense, and the dim lighting gave the place a sense of secrecy, of something forbidden.

And then she saw the person she never thought she would see again in her life. She didn't want to see him again. Ever. But there he was.

Euronymous.

He stood behind the counter, looking exactly like she remembered. His long black hair fell over his shoulders, and he wore his signature leather jacket with bullet belts slung across his waist. He hadn't changed. Not one bit.

Emilie's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't ready for this, wasn't ready to face him again.

But before she could turn and leave, his eyes met hers.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, frozen in time. His gaze flickered with something she couldn't quite place—recognition, maybe, but also something darker. A flicker of the past, of shared memories that neither of them could erase.

"Emilie." His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it cut through the noise of the shop like a blade.

She swallowed, forcing herself to move forward. "Euronymous."

He didn't smile, but there was something in his expression that softened, if only for a moment. "It's been a while."

"Yeah," she said, her voice tight. "It has."

There was a beat of silence, thick with all the things neither of them were saying. Emilie's mind raced, remembering everything that had happened between them, between the band, and most painfully, with Pelle.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Euronymous continued, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were trying to read her.

"I wasn't planning on it," she shot back, a little sharper than intended.

His lips twitched, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Still a metalhead, I see."

"Always," she said. The words were automatic, a reflex, even if she hadn't been to a gig in months. "Cool record shop. I like the name."

"Yeah, it's a work in progress."

There was a pause, and for a moment, Emilie wasn't sure what to say. The awkwardness between them was suffocating, but she forced herself to stand tall.

"I don't know why I'm still here," she finally admitted.

"You're curious," Euronymous said. "About the scene, about what's changed. And about me."

Emilie didn't respond. She wasn't ready to admit that he was right.

"I'm not the same person you left behind," he added quietly.

"Neither am I," Emilie whispered, her eyes dropping to the floor. "But I'm not here to go back. I'm just... looking."

Euronymous's gaze hardened, but there was something almost vulnerable in his voice when he said, "You're always welcome here, Em. If you ever want to be part of it again."

She looked up at him, eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and sadness. "I don't think I could be. Not after what happened with... him."

His expression darkened at the mention of Dead, and the mask of cold indifference slipped over him once more.

"I know," he said simply.

Without another word, Emilie turned and left the shop, the weight of the past pressing heavily on her shoulders, tears slowly slipping down her cheeks. But as she walked down the street, the sound of Euronymous's voice still echoed in her mind.

Maybe the past wasn't finished with her just yet.