Abortion (Music Video)

By PROJECT MONROE · Melodic Death Metal · From the album THE HORROR CONTINUES

The church smelled like wet stone and candle smoke when Father Elias arrived. St. Dymphna’s had been closed for twelve years, ever since the last nun hanged herself from the bell rope, but the diocese sent him anyway. A girl was screaming in the rectory basement is hard to ignore, even in a town that pretends it’s already dead.

Her name was Livia. Nineteen. Eight months pregnant. Strapped to a metal cot with leather belts that had once restrained lunatics before the asylum burned down. Her belly was grotesque (too round, too veined, writhing in ways that sent the attending nuns fleeing back up the stairs with their rosaries clenched like lifelines).

Elias had done three exorcisms in his life. Two successes, one failure that still woke him tasting ash. This one felt wrong the instant he crossed the threshold. The air was warm, humid, like stepping into the throat of something alive.

Livia’s eyes were rolled fully back, only blood-shot sclera showing. Her mouth yawned impossibly wide, and from it spilled a voice ancient and amused.

“Salve, sacerdos,” it crooned. “You’re late.”

Elias began the rite regardless. Holy water smoked where it touched her skin. The Latin flowed steady and sure. The demon laughed with Livia’s ruined throat.

Halfway through the Litany of the Saints, the chanting rose.

Not from Livia. From inside her.

A children’s choir, crystalline and perfect, singing flawless ecclesiastical Latin. The nuns upstairs heard it through the floorboards and fell to their knees, weeping at what they thought was a miracle.

Elias knew better. The voices were coming from the womb.

He pressed the crucifix to the drum-tight skin of her stomach. The chanting swelled, tender, almost maternal. Then the pitch began to collapse. Soprano slid into alto into baritone into something that scraped the marrow from his bones. The innocent voices curdled into a roar that loosened mortar from the walls.

Livia’s belly split.

A clean, bloodless seam from sternum to pubic bone, peeling open like theater curtains. The leather straps snapped like thread. Inside was not a child.

Inside was a mouth.

A vertical mouth lined with thousands of milk-teeth, still pushing through raw gums, clicking like bone wind chimes. The tongue that unfurled was black, forked, long enough to lasso the cot. It tasted the air, tasted him, and the choir (now fully demonic) thundered one word:

**ABORTUS**

Elias tried to finish the rite. He swears he tried. But the thing inside Livia sat up, still tethered by a pulsing red cord thick as a forearm. It had no eyes, only weeping hollows that leaked milk and blood. It reached for him with tiny, flawless hands.

“You were right to come, Father,” it whispered, using Livia’s voice even while its own mouth gnawed through what remained of her ribs. “She begged for this. On her knees in this church. Wanted me gone before I could draw breath.”

The crucifix in Elias’s fist melted, silver dripping between his knuckles like molten sin.

The creature cocked its not-yet-head.

“Funny thing about abortions,” it said, soft as a lullaby. “Sometimes the body refuses. Sometimes the soul claws deeper. And sometimes, Father, the demon isn’t possessing the mother.”

It smiled with both mouths at once.

“It’s the child.”

Livia’s corpse slumped, hollowed, spent. The thing that crawled free stood on legs that cracked and lengthened with every step, growing taller than Elias in heartbeats. The umbilical cord whipped around his neck like a rosary of raw meat.

The last thing he saw was its face finally settling into something almost beautiful: cheekbones sharp as Eucharistic hosts, eyes like cathedral windows lit from behind by an inferno.

It kissed his forehead with lips that tasted of afterbirth and myrrh.

“Tell them,” it whispered, “the priest was right.”

Then it tore his tongue out and wore the rest of him like a blood-soaked cassock.

Upstairs, the nuns found only the cot, the puddle of molten silver, and Livia’s body (cleaned to gleaming bone, arranged in flawless crucifixion).

Her abdomen had been carefully sewn shut with a string of rosary beads.

Inside, something kicked.

Listen to Abortion

About Melodic Death Metal

A Gothenburg-originated fusion of death metal extremity with soaring melodies and harmonized guitar leads, balancing brutality with accessibility and emotional depth. Bands include: In Flames, At the Gates, Dark Tranquility

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