Vincent Smith, the young priest of the Order’s church, was one of the few who knew the true story connecting Alessa and Claudia. Despite belonging to the same Order as Claudia, their views on “God” were radically different. Vincent believed worship could be done on one’s own terms—without fanaticism or blind submission.

He had a pronounced tendency toward sadism, narcissism, and materialism: he loved manipulating parishioners, skimming part of the donations, and spending them on his whims. Vincent never hesitated to throw sarcastic remarks at Claudia—especially after she overthrew Dahlia Gillespie and seized power.

Unlike the rest of the Order, Vincent saw something unique and fascinating in the alternate world of Silent Hill. This world laid bare people’s fears, guilt, and darkest experiences—and Vincent, in his right mind, admired it. He genuinely wanted it all to end, but not out of mercy—out of a desire to stay alive and keep his power.

That was why his first meeting with Heather had been full of hints and half-truths. He had no intention of showing his cards—he wanted to use her to get rid of Alessa first, then Claudia. He considered Alessa a monster born from the Order’s crimes. And Claudia—he saw as a madwoman trying to imitate Alessa and become a goddess.

More than once in front of other Order members, he had called Claudia a demon pretending to speak for God. In the end, his words and actions led Claudia to give the order: Vincent was captured, brutally beaten, and imprisoned in the alternate Toluca Prison—in a solitary cell from which, in her opinion, he would never escape.

When Vincent saw Heather enter his cell—accompanied by a stranger—he briefly thought luck had finally turned in his favor. A few well-chosen words and he’d be free. But within seconds he realized: it wasn’t going to work.

Vincent stared straight into the eyes of the man who leaned down to his face level and exhaled cigarette smoke. Vincent couldn’t even cough—the stranger’s gaze paralyzed him. From the corner of his eye, Vincent noticed the state of the stranger’s clothes: a black coat soaked in blood so thoroughly that even the dark color couldn’t hide it. But what terrified him most were the eyes—rainbow-colored, devoid of any emotion, with deep, almost tangible darkness inside.

Vincent tried to look away—he couldn’t. It was as though if he blinked or turned aside, something far worse than anything Claudia could do would happen.

“Now then, Vincent Smith, we’re going to play a very simple game,” Alex said with a wide smile, baring sharp teeth. “You’re going to answer all my questions… Or else…”

“Or else what…?” Vincent swallowed, feeling the lump in his throat become unbearable.

“Or else everything you’ve seen so far will seem like child’s play to you. When it comes to torture, I’m far more inventive than Claudia and far more terrifying than Alessa. Trust me—I’ve broken beings mortals haven’t even heard of,” Alex whispered, leaning even closer.

The whisper echoed not only through the cell—it rang directly inside Vincent’s head from all sides at once. Vincent looked at Alex’s face—and in that instant he was gripped by a fear he had never experienced before. The stranger’s face became shrouded in thick darkness; only the rainbow eyes and a row of sharp teeth in a grin remained visible.

Vincent struggled to tear his gaze away and looked at Heather. She stood behind Alex and saw only his back—she hadn’t heard a word, hadn’t seen what had happened to his face. Vincent understood: Heather had no idea what kind of monster was holding her hand. She trusted him. And judging by how Alex behaved around her, he genuinely cared for the girl.

Vincent wanted to use Heather to get rid of Alex. He opened his mouth—but no sound came out. He began to suffocate—as though someone had squeezed his lungs, forcing out the last of the air.

Struggling to breathe, he looked into Alex’s eyes—and saw an even wider, more horrifying grin. Vincent looked at him pleadingly.

Alex raised a finger to his lips—the gesture meaning “silence.” Vincent nodded frantically: he understood. In the next instant he could breathe again—and greedily gulped air.

The solitary cell was small—Heather stood behind Alex and couldn’t see what was happening. She only saw Alex staring into Vincent’s eyes—but heard nothing.

“And since you’re such an understanding conversationalist… Let’s start with the simplest question,” Alex said, leaning against the wall and giving Vincent more space. “I know perfectly well how much you dislike Claudia and the way she runs the Order. So here’s my question: how far has Claudia gone in her madness and her desire to give birth to your pathetic god?”

“That crazy bitch… Claudia… she doesn’t want to give birth to God…” Vincent forced out, trembling with fear.

“What do you mean ‘doesn’t want’? Isn’t the whole point of your Order to make your god come into the world and grant you paradise and purification?” Alex asked, raising an eyebrow and bringing the cigarette to his lips.

“I overheard Claudia… when she was talking to her loyal followers… She wants to use Heather as an incubator… and then absorb the fruit… to become a deity herself… and save everyone… That crazy bitch said only she is worthy of being the vessel for God… That’s why she overthrew Dahlia… and sent her for purification…” Vincent said, shifting his gaze to Heather’s stomach.

Heather immediately covered her stomach with her hands—panic gripped her. She already understood: to give birth to a god, an embryo had to appear inside her. A thought flashed through her mind: what if it had already happened? What if she simply hadn’t noticed?

Alex heard Vincent’s words—thought for a moment and nodded, understanding: Claudia was fully capable of something like that in a fit of madness. She envied Alessa—the one who was supposed to become the vessel. Claudia had learned this from her father—one of the Order’s highest-ranking members.

In the past, Claudia and Alessa had been friends and both wanted to see the “paradise” their god would bring. But when Claudia overheard her father’s conversation—envy consumed her. And now that Claudia had seized control of the Order, she wanted to become the deity herself and lead the Order into their so-called paradise.

While thinking, Alex heard a rustle nearby—turned his head and saw Heather running her hands over her stomach with a panicked expression.

“Cheryl, there’s nothing there. You’re not pregnant with their god or anything else. Their god is born from pain, suffering, and purification. So calm down and breathe deeply,” Alex said, placing his palm on her head.

“Really…?” Heather asked, still trembling.

“Really. Now calm down and let me finish talking to this guy,” Alex said, stroking her hair.

Hearing the confirmation, Heather let out a relieved breath. She definitely didn’t want to be pregnant with some entity.

Vincent also looked at Heather—more intently this time—and realized: she hadn’t yet encountered the darkness, hadn’t become a vessel. She still remained the bright part of Alessa’s soul—unstained by sin, pain, and hatred.

Vincent shifted his gaze back to Alex—and realized: this was the man responsible for Claudia’s plans going off the rails. He himself had wanted to use Heather—so she would first defeat Alessa, then Claudia, and in the end he would deal with her. But neither he nor Claudia had anticipated a variable like Alex.

“Next question, Vincent. The second part of the Metatron Seal—where is it?” Alex said, pulling the first part of the seal from his inner pocket.

“I don’t know…” Vincent shook his head.

“That’s a lie,” Alex said calmly. “Cheryl, go stand in the corner and cover your ears so you don’t hear what’s about to happen.”

Heather raised an eyebrow and looked at Alex. But under his gaze she could only nod—she turned, walked to the corner, and covered her ears.

Vincent panicked: he understood that the moment Heather turned away, something terrible awaited him.

“Wait! I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you! The second part of the seal is in the hands of Leonard Wolf. I found out when I visited him in the hospital after Claudia sent him there. He told me himself it was his duty to guard the seal. Even Claudia doesn’t know about it,” Vincent blurted out in a panicked tone.

Hearing the desperate cry, Alex smiled contemptuously. He knew people like this too well. They loved to manipulate, considered themselves superior, smarter. But the moment they found themselves in a situation where their tricks didn’t work, where their life was in danger—they instantly revealed their true cowardly nature.

Heather, almost turned away and covering her ears, heard Vincent’s cry—turned her head and saw the panic in his eyes. She didn’t understand what Alex had done to frighten him so much in such a short conversation. But one thing was clear: Vincent was terrified of being left alone with Alex—even if she was still in the room.

“So Daddy of that crazy bitch hid an important artifact from his own daughter… Though I think Claudia simply doesn’t care. After all, that thing in your hands is nothing more than a shiny trinket. I’m right, aren’t I, Vincent?” Alex said, smiling calmly.

“I don’t know…” Vincent shook his head, trying not to meet Alex’s gaze.

“Whatever you say. And now the last question: where is Harry Mason? Where are they keeping him?” Alex said, shrugging slightly.

“He was supposed to be sent to Brookhaven Hospital. But I heard from the ones who brought me here—some man was taken to the isolation unit area. If you let me go—I’ll show you where it is,” Vincent said, looking at Heather instead of Alex.

“Oh, Vincent, my boy… You could have counted on Heather’s help to get out of here… But—no. We’ll find the isolation unit ourselves—and even the passage to the hospital. You see, my future daughter is actually helping us move forward. And you, essentially, are useless,” Alex said cheerfully, wagging a finger at Vincent like at a naughty child.

“What do you mean by ‘future daughter’?” Vincent asked, thinking he had misheard.

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’m going to adopt Alessa. And wipe out every single member of the Order. But since you helped us even a little—even if it’s insignificant—I’ll give you a chance, like I give everyone. Whether you can escape Silent Hill before I finish here—or become food for my wife’s pets. It all depends on how fast you can run and whether you can get out,” Alex said, grinning widely.

Vincent first thought he had misheard the part about adopting Alessa. But Alex’s gaze said: this was no joke. Especially the part about exterminating the Order. The phrase about his wife’s pets, though—he didn’t understand.

As if reading the question in Vincent’s eyes, Alex pointed downward. Vincent followed his gaze down—and looked at his own feet, or rather at his shadow, which merged with Alex’s.

In that instant, dozens of red eyes and sharp maws opened in the shadow—all staring at him with obvious hunger. Seeing this, Vincent trembled even harder—not even wanting to know what kind of creatures lived in Alex’s shadow.

Still smiling, Alex pulled an old rusty metal file from his pocket and placed it in Vincent’s hand.

“Here’s your way to freedom. Like I said—I’ll help however I can. The rest depends on you. And to make it easier—fine, I’ll free one of your hands.”

Alex tore the shackles off Vincent’s one hand.

Vincent stared at the rusty file in his hand—then looked at Alex like he was looking at a sadist. Alex only grinned wider and gave a thumbs-up—showing: your life now depends on your own efforts.

Heather, watching all this, didn’t even know how to react. She simply stayed silent.

Alex calmly placed his hands on Heather’s shoulders and gently pushed her out of the solitary cell—leaving Vincent alone with his struggle for survival.

Vincent watched in panic as Alex and Heather left, abandoning him with the rusty file. He looked at the thick shackles binding his legs and remaining hand—and understood: it would take him a very long time to free himself.

“Wait! I can lead you to the church! You need Claudia—I know a secret passage so no one will notice you!” Vincent shouted just before the doors closed.

Alex peeked back into the cell with a wide grin:

“I don’t need that. I’ll just walk through the front door. And like my father said before sending me to work: ‘I believe you’ll handle it—and may luck always be on your side.'”

With those words Alex slammed the iron doors shut—leaving Vincent in solitude. After locking the cell, Alex looked at Heather. Her eyes held a silent question. He smiled lightly and led her toward the isolation unit area. After all, according to Vincent, another man had been brought there.

Alex led Heather through the dimly lit corridors of Toluca Prison, following the map. Wandering between prison cells, they soon reached another door. All this time Heather hoped: the man Vincent mentioned—was her father. Even if the hope was slim—she didn’t want to lose it.

“According to the map, this corridor leads to the isolation unit area,” Alex said, tucking the map back into his coat pocket.

“Do you think my father could be there? Or does Claudia want to use him to get to me?” Heather asked, looking at Alex and trying to hold onto hope.

“Cheryl, I promised: I’ll get you and your father out. And at some point all of this will just become a nightmare you’ll eventually forget. No matter what happens—I’ll see you through to the end. Because it’s not just you who deserves a happy ending,” Alex said, stroking her hair.

“Does Alessa deserve a happy ending too?” Heather asked cautiously, looking at him.

“Yes. Even though you and Alessa are two parts of one whole. But both of you equally deserve a happy life—without pain, suffering, and darkness,” Alex replied with a calm smile.

After those words Alex pushed open the rusty iron doors and stepped forward. Heather quickly followed. The isolation units were on the basement level—they needed to go down.

Descending the stairs into the basement, Heather thought about Alex’s words: she and Alessa—two parts of one whole. She was the bright part of Alessa’s soul, while Alessa had kept the darkness for herself. Heather couldn’t understand: how could they exist separately while being two different people? No matter how hard she tried—she found no answer.

“Since we’re two halves of one whole—how can we live separately?” she asked, following Alex down.

“Cheryl, the human soul is so unique and precious you can’t even imagine. Even if I explained it—you still wouldn’t fully understand. It’s easier for you to think of yourself as Alessa’s twin. Your connection is roughly like that of twins: on one hand you’re part of one, on the other—both unique. Each of you has your own thoughts, desires, dreams. So don’t clutter your head with extra questions,” Alex said, turning his head slightly to look at her.

Hearing the answer, Heather sighed and nodded—continuing to follow him. Soon they reached the very bottom. Before them stood another rusty iron door. Alex was about to push it open—when he heard the sound of someone stepping in water. Lowering his gaze, he saw liquid seeping from under the door.

Heather shone her flashlight—the liquid was blood. Heather frowned slightly and looked at Alex. He pressed against the door—and felt resistance: someone was holding it from the other side. Pressing harder, Alex opened the door and stepped through first. He saw the corpse of an Order member—his body riddled with numerous holes, blood still oozing from them.

“Looks like the inmates in the isolation units didn’t like having visitors,” Alex said, examining the corpse.

“But who killed him? He looks like he was turned into a sieve,” Heather said, pointing at the holes.

“Well, either he decided to hug a giant porcupine… or there’s a monster here that loves poking people with something sharp,” Alex said, stroking his chin.

“Neither option sounds optimistic,” Heather said, grimacing.

“Well, whatever it is—we just have to kill it. Now let’s go—see who those cultists brought here,” Alex said, lighting a cigarette.

“I hope it’s my dad,” Heather said, clenching her fists.

“Me too, Cheryl,” Alex replied, exhaling smoke.

They moved forward, no longer paying attention to the dead Order member.

Continuing through the basement level—where there were also prison cells—Alex and Heather headed toward the farthest part, where the isolation units were located. The smell of dampness and mold here was especially heavy. Every step felt like stepping on something sticky and viscous. In one of the cells they saw yet another dead Order member in a protective suit—his body also riddled like a sieve.

Realizing a monster might be nearby, Alex drew Blue Rose from behind his back and moved forward. Almost at the isolation unit area, they heard a sound—like something metallic being dragged across the floor.

Peeking around the corner, Alex saw the monster: its body pierced with iron rods—even from its eyes. On its legs—iron shackles clanking with every movement. The monster twitched in convulsions, pacing back and forth near the door.

“It looks like the monster we saw in the apartments,” Heather whispered, pointing at the creature.

“Well, now we know what a ‘hug monster’ looks like. Though I wouldn’t hug something like that,” Alex said, nodding and scratching his head with the barrel of the revolver.

“But how could it kill those Order members if it has rods sticking out of its eyes?” Heather asked, turning her head to Alex.

“Maybe it has good hearing. Or those dead idiots were such idiots they couldn’t even escape a blind monster,” Alex said, shrugging.

Heather looked at Alex—he had once again called Order members idiots. She was already getting used to it and had started thinking the same way. Alex aimed Blue Rose at the monster—and fired. The creature’s head burst—and it collapsed to the floor. Heather covered her ears just in time—so she wouldn’t go deaf from the roar.

Holstering the revolver, Alex moved forward—stepped on the monster and continued. Heather skirted the creature—unwilling to step on something so disgusting. Approaching the door, Alex lightly pushed it with his hand—the door didn’t budge. He waved at Heather to step back.

When she retreated—Alex kicked the rusty iron door, knocking it off its hinges. The door crashed inside, slamming against the dirty concrete floor. Alex and Heather entered the room—a spacious one with many rusty old doors. And this was only the first room—another similar one stretched farther ahead.

“So in which of these isolation rooms could the person they brought here be?” Alex asked, stroking his chin.

“Should we check each one?” Heather asked, looking at him.

Alex thought for a moment—and shrugged slightly: not much choice.

He approached the nearest isolation unit and yanked the door—opened it. The first unit was empty. But the room itself looked designed to break anyone placed inside: walls, ceiling, and floor covered in small spikes. Even lying down or leaning was impossible. Traces of old dried blood indicated: more than one person had been here.

Seeing this, Heather felt anxiety—thinking about her father possibly being held in such an isolation unit. Alex opened one door after another—until he heard a faint groan and heavy breathing.

Hearing the groan, Heather rushed to the closed door and began pulling on it with all her strength. The harder she pulled—the greater her anxiety grew: she clearly heard groans from the other side.

Seeing her behavior, Alex calmly approached, placed a hand on her shoulder—pushed her back gently. In the same moment he yanked the door toward him—ripped it off its hinges. Heather immediately looked inside—thinking her father was there. But instead of her father she saw another man—whom she also knew.

Alex looked in after her—and saw a beaten man who had clearly been tortured: broken face, shattered fingers, clear bloodstains on his clothes. It was the private detective Douglas Cartland—whom Claudia had hired to find Heather. Douglas lay on the floor of the isolation unit—despite the spikes—and groaned heavily.

Alex gently pushed Heather aside, approached Douglas—to help the man up and pull him out of the unit. In his condition Douglas barely understood what was happening—only felt himself being led somewhere again. Alex propped Douglas against the wall and began examining his body.

“Why is he in this state?” Heather asked in horror, staring at Douglas.

“I think it’s because he didn’t bring you to them. Most likely Claudia took her anger out on him,” Alex said, shaking his head.

“But why would she do that? Why did he go to her at all?” Heather asked, clenching her fists.

“Heather…” Douglas muttered with difficulty, raising his head.

Seeing Douglas’s condition and understanding he wouldn’t last long—Alex sighed slightly, touched two fingers to the man’s forehead. In that instant the wounds on Douglas’s body began to heal—his condition rapidly returning to normal.

Heather saw this—and stared at Alex in shock, not understanding what was happening. Douglas felt the pain recede. Even the broken fingers—which Claudia had snapped one by one—began to mend. The wounds closed. Douglas blinked in confusion—looked first at Alex, then at Heather.

“Heather? Why are you here?” he asked, staring at her.

“You’d better tell us—why were you in this condition and why are you here,” Alex said, standing up and lighting a cigarette.

“I didn’t want Heather to come to this city… So I thought: if I could get Harry Mason out—she wouldn’t have to go to Silent Hill. Then she wouldn’t fall into Claudia’s hands,” Douglas said in a heavy tone.

“And let me guess: you showed up on Claudia’s doorstep saying Heather would soon be in Silent Hill, tried to sneak in information about where they were holding Harry—and ended up captured, tortured, and sent here. I’m right, aren’t I?” Alex said calmly, exhaling smoke.

“That’s exactly what happened. And before I could find out where they sent Heather’s father—they grabbed me. But my wounds… why am I healthy again? And who are you?” Douglas said, nodding and looking at Alex.

“I’m a federal agent with the Bureau of Control. As for how I healed you… well… I won’t say. Consider it thanks for helping Heather. You could have taken the money and walked away. Pretty noble for a private detective who usually digs into other people’s lives for cash,” Alex said, looking at Douglas with a calm gaze.

Douglas opened his mouth—and immediately closed it. Alex was right.

He had taken this job after a series of tragedies: divorce, his wife’s death from illness a couple of years later, his son’s death during a bank robbery—all because of lack of money. After his son’s death Douglas quit the police and became a private detective. Work and alcohol—his only companions. Until he took on Heather and her father’s case.

Learning what the Order was planning, Douglas wanted to warn Heather—but it was too late. The Order had already kidnapped Harry. Feeling guilt he hadn’t felt in a long time, he decided to help—because he saw his late son in Heather. And so he promised to bring her to Silent Hill and help get her father back.

But listening to Heather’s life story on the way to Silent Hill—he decided to handle everything himself. And ended up caught. Douglas looked at Heather—and felt guilt again: because part of her life had suffered partly because of him.

“Sorry, Heather. I didn’t know it would end like this. I shouldn’t have brought you to this place. I should have warned you and your father about the Order earlier,” Douglas said with a heavy sigh, lowering his head.

“I don’t blame you. You didn’t know it would turn out this way. And you still wanted to help me and my father. I’m truly grateful to you,” Heather said, trying to sound calm.

Hearing her words, instead of relief Douglas felt an even heavier burden on his heart. Even the fact that she didn’t blame him—made him feel worse. Seeing this, Heather crouched beside him and took the man’s hand. Even though they had only known each other recently—she didn’t blame him. Heather understood: this wasn’t Douglas’s fault.

Alex stood behind Heather smoking a cigarette, shaking his head slightly. But at the same time he thought: Douglas had done the right thing. He came to his senses in time, decided to help—despite the consequences—and wanted to fix everything. In Alex’s eyes that was worthy of respect.

“Alright, enough of this sentimentality. We need to get you out of this city, old man,” Alex said, stubbing out his cigarette.

“Didn’t you say yourself that without certain conditions we can’t leave the city?” Heather asked, looking at Alex.

“Let’s start with the fact that you still can’t leave—and you understand why. But he can. He just needs a door,” Alex said, pointing at Douglas. Heather nodded understandingly.

“What do you mean—Heather can’t leave the city? How should I understand that?” Douglas asked, having overheard their conversation.

“Heather is tied to the city—just like Alessa. So until then she can’t leave—the city won’t let her go. Now enough stupid questions—get up,” Alex said, rolling his eyes.

Douglas frowned and looked at Heather—she nodded. Douglas knew about the strange connection between Heather and Alessa—but didn’t know the details. Most of the information about the Order was hard to comprehend. When Douglas stood up—Alex beckoned him and Heather to follow and approached another closed isolation door.

Alex pulled chalk from his backpack and began drawing inscriptions on the iron door and the walls nearby. He remembered the spell Sam had found. Sam had planned to use it to open the door to Room 302. Alex was going to use it to open a door out of Silent Hill.

Finishing, Alex slapped the iron door—the inscriptions flared for a brief moment, as though burning into the walls and door.

“All the doors are ready. When you leave the city—Bureau of Control agents will meet you on the other side. Tell them I’ll finish soon. And if they ask about the missing agents—give them this,” Alex said, handing Douglas the badges of the dead agents.

“And what about you two?” Douglas asked, looking at Alex and Heather.

“Don’t worry about Heather. I can protect her. Now stop wasting time—go. We still need to find Harry and beat the crazy bitch,” Alex said, opening the iron doors.

When the doors opened—Douglas and Heather saw an asphalt road covered in thick fog. Both recognized it: this was the very road leading into Silent Hill.

Douglas looked at Alex—nodded slightly. Then looked at Heather. He wanted to say something—but closed his mouth and simply wished her luck in the search.

When Douglas left—Alex slammed the doors shut.

“Well, at least we sent one back. So, Cheryl. Next stop—the hospital,” Alex said with a light smile.

“Mmm… I hope Dad is there. And I definitely agree with your words—that crazy bitch needs to be beaten,” Heather said, crossing her arms and nodding.

Alex chuckled lightly and led Heather back toward the surface—because he knew: the gallows in the prison courtyard served as a passage farther on.

To be continued…

(So, I’ve thought about it and decided that I might not show the rest of the storylines. I just think it would take up even more chapters, and I really want to show even more places, including Hellsing, and maybe even the Outlast plot. Or something else. So, I guess we’ll see how we get to the end of Silent Hill’s plot.)

Early access to chapters on my patreon: p*treon.com/GreedHunter

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep