We continue to follow the story of Oscar Blight, a man whose almost cemented legacy has been tainted by forces akin to his surname. While a man in his industry would never have willingly entered that almost smothering lifestyle of a father, he certainly would have had quite the number of lovers in his life. This man was so old that it seemed that even his skin would begin to gray, and yet his charm was so ingrained into his actions that those that resisted his advances would be offended by the notion that he had not truly vied for their attention. Unfortunately, the sins of the icon for all things good hung above his head like a muzzle, which prevented the full volume of his well-aged visage to be heard. His skills, however, could never become watered down by such things.
"Ah, for fuck's sake..." the old veteran of combat against the infernal plane cursed, his low voice chasing away the darkness of the dusty room alongside the gas-powered lantern he had almost lost a finger to just moments ago.
'How long has it been since you've had the chance to nip me like that? Old bastard,' he chided the fist sized lantern while chuckling at the thought.
Oscar's size was nothing to scoff at, the man's broad shoulders made it hard enough to enter most doorways on their own without even mentioning his imposing height of six feet and eight inches. While the orthodox exorcist of this day and age would hate such a noticeable profile, this was of no concern to Oscar. He wasn't exactly gentle to the wretches of hell.
Despite having only just left his living room, he made his way to this nearly forgotten room only to sit once more in a chair. It was an aged chair, that much was clear as it creaked heavily under his weight, but it was sturdy. He had made it himself, and when had first begun practicing his father's teachings on exorcism Oscar retreated into the wilderness. There was something... enlightening in creating items by hand, an almost instinctual understanding that they were unique, more sturdy, and attuned to their creator. This chair was so worn that even a child sitting in it may be its undoing, but it carried Oscar as if he weighed little more than a feather.
It was his father that guided Oscar to this lesson : the supernatural was subtle. There aren't flashing lights, no grand displays. The supernatural was as subtle as the natural, like the wind blew the creatures of hell fed on emotions. It wasn't a choice most of these creatures had the leisure to avoid, it was simply how they were. Oscar didn't kill these beings through his exorcisms for that very reason.
It wasn't that he was weak, nor did it mean that he lacked the stomach for such a thing. He believes there is a better way, and his years of success proved it. During his active period spanning three decades, there was a significant drop in entity related deaths. How could one man do such a thing you might be asking? Precisely because he didn't kill them, no he wanted them to fear and respect even the very first syllable of his name. He crushed their will into nothing but a lamenting paste.
Entity's were far too fearful to even run the risk of overexerting their targets, and only the strongest of them even dared to fulfill their usual quotas. It was truly a dark age for majority of the infernal plane, save the truly strong none could even utter the words, "They're only human."
"Fhhhh, fhhhh, fhhhhhh," the sound of Oscar's blade gliding along the edge of a block of redwood interrupted the exposition on his nature and its influence.
Oscar was by no means a god amongst men, but many would argue otherwise. It was the ingenuity of his creations that made people truly question the mans origins, when he was little more than a person following tradition. What he was doing now was filing down wood he had shaped with his own nails, so that he could then turn those chunks into sawdust. While introducing a knife into the equation slightly diluted the process, it was heavily counteracted by the fact he had forged the blade and handle himself. There was an intent behind the process, but its purpose would only be revealed when it had begun to be fulfilled.
When Oscar had finished up he had two small bags attached to the loops of his belt as well as a hammer, "I'd reckon this will do for this first one, don't ya agree?" he jokingly asked the lantern as he knocked on its metal exterior before the room began to darken.
The giant of a man squeezed his way out of the room through a much too narrow doorway, and now there was little to do except wait until it was time... which didn't feel too long despite three days having passed since then. He opened his front door, the light of two bright moons and a star-filled sky bathing his figure in an ominous red hue. This was it. This was an incursion. The beings of the infernal plane had grown bored, and their King had appeased them.
The streets were quiet and not a single light could be found in each house, but there was no mistake that everyone inside was fast asleep. There were certain rules to opening the gates to hell and spilling into the Overworld, it was almost like a game that few were privy to. Like any good game, there were rules for the sake of sportsmanship and that involved the safety of the citizens of the defenders.
"HELL YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!!!! IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG, HASN'T IT OLD MAN?" a booming and youthful voice filled the space, their excitement sending ripples through the air.
A white streak made its way through the sky, breaking through the crimson tint that seemed to fill air. It didn't take long before it landed before Oscar, scattering debris in all directions. As the dust settled a human figure appeared, a chiseled young man with striking white hair stared at the old man with an almost maniacal grin that threatened to reach his ears.
Oscar simply stared back at him for a few moments before a similar unsettling expression appeared on his face, "AYE, IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG YOUNG MAN! YOU'VE GROWN QUITE A LOT," his low voice reverberated in the surroundings with a certain warmth in its tone.
The young man sprinted towards Oscar, but he made no effort to dodge as he was tackled into the ground, "HAHAHA! Oh my god... are you ready for this shit, old man? We're going to destroy these demon bastards."
This was Oscar's true influence on the infernal plane. They couldn't simply remain fearful of completing their jobs, and instead they had found a solution that appeased the oh so dreadful Oscar Blight. War, this would let both sides vent their grievances as well as allow the infernal plane to eat their fill. Oscar had made a huge change during his years, but this wasn't what had made him begin to tremble in excitement. It was the sight of the young man he had taken as his pupil having found his own way in the world of exorcism, a way unfit for the public eye but far stronger than the church was allowed to publicly bolster. This was it, this was the true art of exorcism.
The infernal plane will know for the first time that true exorcism isn't holy water and scripture.
These damned demons would fear a new name alongside Oscar Blight.
Vance Müller.