The blinding golden light receded, leaving Michael blinking furiously, his vision swimming with spots. He stumbled back a step, his knees weak, the air thick with the acrid tang of singed hair and ozone. Elian, no, the thing inhabiting Elian, lay contorted on the silk sheets, its chest heaving with a ragged, inhuman breath.
But the triumph in Michael's chest was short-lived. The entity's eyes, previously obsidian pits, now burned an unholy crimson, a malevolent intelligence gleaming within. A grotesque smile, wide and unnatural, stretched across Elian's face, revealing needle-like teeth that glinted wickedly.
A voice, a rasping growl that seemed to emanate from Elian's very core, echoed through the room. It was a voice that scraped against Michael's sanity, a voice that whispered promises of pain and oblivion. "Foolish priest," it boomed, the sound vibrating Michael's bones. "You cannot banish me. This vessel is mine!"
Michael's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He'd faced his fair share of demons, whispered prayers over countless possessed souls, but this... this was different. This entity pulsed with an ancient power, an evil so profound it made his skin crawl. Fear, a primal instinct, threatened to overwhelm him, but years of training, of staring into the abyss, forced it down. Panic wouldn't help Elian, wouldn't help anyone.
His hands trembled as he fumbled with the worn leather cover of his grimoire. The air crackled with a malevolent energy as the entity thrashed within Elian's body, the silken sheets tearing under the force of its struggle. His eyes scanned the faded script, desperately searching for a passage, any passage, that could offer a sliver of hope against this monstrosity.
His thumb snagged on a brittle page, its edges singed and blackened from a previous encounter. There, illuminated by a faint afterglow, was the Binding Rite. A desperate measure for a desperate situation.
"In nomine Adharae deae spei(in the name of Adhara, goddess of hope)" he rasped, his voice raw and hoarse, each syllable a struggle against the terror gripping his throat. The worn leather of the grimoire felt slick with sweat in his grasp. As he spoke the ancient words, a faint, ethereal glow emanated from the script, weaving a web of shimmering light around Elian's thrashing form.
The entity shrieked, a sound that ripped through the opulent chamber like a banshee's wail. Elian's body, once the picture of youthful grace, contorted into a horrifying parody of human form. The bed frame groaned in protest as the demon within him strained against the light's hold.
"You dare cage me, mortal?" the entity roared, its voice a cacophony of twisted whispers that sent shivers down Michael's spine. "Your pathetic magic cannot hold me! I will wear this prince like a cloak and tear down your precious kingdom!"
Sweat beaded on Michael's forehead, stinging his eyes as they burned with the effort of maintaining the binding. He felt the strain pulling at his very core, a battle of wills waged not just with the entity, but with his own failing strength. He knew the binding wouldn't hold forever. He needed to weaken the entity, drive it back from the precipice.
A desperate prayer, barely a whisper above a whimper, escaped his lips as he fumbled for a vial hidden within his satchel. Elian lunged for him, a demonic snarl twisting his face into a grotesque mask. In a heartbeat, Michael flung the vial's contents – a shimmering, silver liquid – at the entity's face.
The air crackled with a sickening sizzle. The holy water, imbued with the blessings of countless saints, made contact with Elian's skin. A stench of burning flesh filled the room as the entity shrieked in a voice that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality itself. Elian writhed on the bed, the tendrils of light momentarily tightening their hold.
"You will pay for this, priest!" the entity screeched, its voice laced with a raw, primal fear that sent a shiver down Michael's spine. It was the first flicker of vulnerability he'd witnessed.
"It is you who will pay," Michael gritted his teeth, his voice strained to the breaking point. "You will be banished back to the abyss from whence you came!"
The room became a battleground of light and darkness. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of burnt flesh. Elian, or rather the cage he'd become, convulsed with every violent tremor. The entity's power, however, waned under the relentless assault of the binding and the holy water.
In Elians subconscious
Elian didn't see light. He saw static. Blinding, overwhelming static that filled his vision and made his head throb. His ears weren't met with silence, but with a cacophony of sounds - a digitized screech, a distorted heartbeat, a whisper that sounded suspiciously like his own name played backwards. Panic, raw and primal, clawed at his throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't even scream.
Then, a voice. It wasn't coming from anywhere, it was just... there. A gravelly growl that sent shivers down his nonexistent spine. "Lost, little prince?" it rumbled, amusement dripping from each word. "Don't worry, it won't be long now. This pathetic shell will be mine."
Elian tried to form a response, to scream, to do anything, but his body wouldn't obey. All he could manage was a pathetic whimper that dissolved into the static. The voice chuckled, a sound like fingernails scraping down a chalkboard.
Suddenly, the static coalesced, forming a distorted image of himself. This Elian, though, was twisted, his eyes burning with an unnatural red light, his face contorted into a cruel sneer. He was clad in armor that seemed to shift and writhe like living shadows.
"There's no you anymore," the dark Elian sneered, the amusement gone, replaced by a cold, predatory hunger. "Just me. And soon, this entire pathetic kingdom will be mine."
Tears welled up in Elian's nonexistent eyes, blurring the already distorted image. A choked sob escaped his lips, a sound so raw and vulnerable it surprised even him. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't brave. He was just Elian, a prince who spent more time arguing with tailors than training with knights.
But a spark flickered within the static, a tiny ember of defiance. "No," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "This isn't me."
The dark Elian lunged, the movement impossibly fast. Elian flinched, bracing for the impact, but it never came. Instead, a blinding light erupted from within the dark Elian's chest. It wasn't a holy light, not like in the stories. It was a warm, golden light, like the memory of sunlight on his skin.
The dark Elian recoiled with a shriek, a sound that spoke not of demonic power, but of a cornered animal. It clawed at its chest, as if trying to tear the light away. Cracks began to appear in its obsidian armor, revealing glimpses of something raw and pulsating beneath.
"This," a voice whispered, faint but resolute, resonated from within the light. It was Elian's own voice, but stronger, filled with a courage he never knew he possessed. "This is who I am. This is the light you fear."
The light pulsed, a wave of warmth washing over Elian. Then, with a deafening pop, the static cleared. Elian found himself back in the bedchamber, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of burnt flesh. He coughed, a wet, choking sound that wracked his body. His vision swam, coming into focus on Father Michael slumped against the wall, his face etched with exhaustion and relief.
"Elian?" Michael rasped, his voice hoarse.
Elian wanted to say something profound, something heroic. But all he could manage was a small, pathetic whimper. Weakly, he lifted a hand to his face, his fingers trembling. It was slick with sweat and tears, the sting of holy water lingering on his skin.
A wave of nausea washed over him, the taste of fear metallic on his tongue. He closed his eyes, the memory of the darkness, the struggle, the fear, flashing behind his eyelids. He had been to the edge, and for a terrifying moment, he hadn't been sure he'd come back.
But he had. He was weak, he was scared, but he was alive. And that, in that broken moment, was all that mattered.