Shadows of Helvete

Chapter 9

Emilie felt so alone. Oslo, a city she once found darkly charming, now seemed like a desolate wasteland. Every corner, every street, every face was a reminder of how much she'd lost—and how much further she had to fall. Her last paycheck had barely covered her most recent rent, and now, with no job and no prospects, she had nothing left.

She'd spent days wandering the city, looking for work—anything. But the moment people looked at her, they saw the weariness etched into her pale skin, the hollow, red-rimmed eyes that had seen too much. Shop owners turned her away with cold excuses, cafés claimed they had enough staff, and even the grimiest bars wouldn't hire her.

It didn't take long for her landlord to lose patience. The eviction notice was slapped on her door only a week after she'd lost her job, and now, all of her possessions were stuffed into a single, shabby duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was a ghost, walking the streets without purpose, without home, without hope.

As evening fell, the air in Oslo grew sharp and cold. She found herself standing once again in front of Helvete, the record store she swore she'd never enter again. It looked the same as before—dimly lit, almost eerie with its black-painted windows and jagged logos that screamed rebellion.

For a brief moment, she considered going inside. The thought crossed her mind like a whisper: Maybe he'll let me stay the night... just one night. But then the anger resurfaced, burning hot in her chest.

Euronymous had no right to offer her anything. Not after what he'd done. Not after he had turned Pelle's death into something grotesque, something to profit from. She shook her head bitterly. No. I'd rather sleep on the streets than ask for his help.

So she turned her back on the store, her feet dragging her through the cold, quiet streets until she reached a park—a small, unkempt place she vaguely remembered from her earlier days in Oslo. It was mostly empty. And at this hour, no one came here.

It was dark, colder than she expected, but she had no other options. She found a bench in the most secluded part of the park, where the trees formed a canopy overhead, casting deep shadows that made the place feel like a hidden refuge. She sat down and curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, trying to keep warm.

But the cold bit through her thin jacket, seeping into her bones. She shivered uncontrollably, her breath coming out in visible puffs in the crisp night air. Every sound—the rustling of leaves, the distant footsteps, the occasional creak of the park's swings—set her on edge. It was too quiet, too empty.

She tried to close her eyes, willing herself to sleep, but the silence felt threatening and oppressive. And then she heard something—footsteps, closer now. Too close.

Her heart started to race. She sat up slightly, peering into the darkness. A shadowy figure emerged from the gloom, moving slowly toward her. Panic flooded her system, her hands clenched around her bag as if it could protect her.

The man stepped closer, his face obscured by the darkness, but his intentions were clear. He moved with purpose, his eyes glinting with something dark and predatory.

"Hey there," he muttered, his voice low, almost a growl. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?"

Emilie's pulse pounded in her ears. She could feel the threat in his words, the malice radiating off him. She opened her mouth to speak, to scream, but no sound came out.

The man grabbed her arm, pulling her roughly toward him. "Don't be scared, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath foul against her face. "I'll keep you company."

She struggled, but his grip was strong, his other hand reaching for her waist, his intentions unmistakable. Her body went rigid with terror.

And then, suddenly, another voice cut through the darkness, sharp and commanding.