SARIEL DIDN'T BELIEVE IN HELL. But the scene before him made him question that.

The first thing that hit him was the smell. The stench of rank, rotting flesh crawled into his lungs, triggering his gag reflex instantly.

But that was nothing compared to the bodies. Fresh corpses scattered the gym floor, paramedics rushing to cover them with tarps. The recovered bodies laid side by side, in neat lines of dead children, by the drink table. The glittery decorations of prom seemed surreal with the massacre around it.

Sariel’s knees locked up, his glasses slipping down his nose. These were kids he had seen since there were in kindergarten, people who he had seen alive and happy only hours before. He could identify every body with a name or a voice.

He remembered his intention: Alzar. A new wave of fear broke him from his frozen state, and he stumbled across the gym, scanning over the bodies with morbid eyes.

A boy lying on his stomach caught his eye. Hands trembling, Sariel stopped closer, throat tightening when he saw the wounds.

The officer had mentioned a shooting, but the marks didn't resemble any gunshot wound that Sariel knew of. There was a gaping hole in his back, his rib cage exposed.

Sariel’s heartbeat quickened. Something lurked in the back of his mind...deja vu? He broke his stare away from the corpse, trying to remove the image from his mind.

A hand touched his arm. “Sir, you're not supposed to be in here.” The voice sounded more gentle, solemn.

“My son...my nephew, please, have you seen him? Is he alive?” Sariel turned to face the paramedic, his breath coming out in strangled gasps.

The woman's eyes fell away, a somber air dragging her shoulders down. “I'm sorry, sir. So far the only survivor was a junior that wasn't even in the gym.”