The old church was silent, save for the occasional flicker of candlelight casting shadows across the stone walls. Father Marcus stood before the trembling boy, beads of sweat forming on his brow as he recited the ancient prayers. The boy—no more than ten years old—lay bound to the bed, his body convulsing as the demon inside him mocked the exorcism, its voice low and guttural.
"You think your words can save him, priest?" The demon's voice rasped from the boy's throat, a sickening blend of amusement and contempt. The boy's eyes, glowing with a faint yellow light, locked onto Father Marcus. "He is mine now."
Marcus ignored the taunts, tightening his grip on the Bible. He had performed dozens of exorcisms before, some far worse than this. Yet, something about this demon felt… different. It was as though the air itself thickened with each word it spoke, pressing against his chest.
"In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti…" Father Marcus began again, his voice steady but tinged with a growing unease.
The boy let out a shriek that reverberated through the room, followed by a deep, rattling laughter. The bed creaked as the boy's body arched unnaturally, bones shifting beneath his skin. Then, in a voice that was no longer amused but cold and venomous, the demon spoke.
"Do you know why I'm here, Father? Why I chose this boy?"
Marcus hesitated for a moment but continued with the prayer. He had learned long ago that demons fed on fear, and they loved to play mind games with their exorcists. He would not engage with it.
"This is your fault, you know," the demon continued, its voice now dripping with malice. "You think you're righteous. You think you've been chosen to cast me out. But you forget, Father—there are always consequences."
The boy's head twisted unnaturally to face Marcus, and the demon's voice dropped to a whisper that seemed to fill the room, intimate and invasive.
"Do you remember Daniel?"
Father Marcus froze. The name hit him like a blow to the chest. He had not heard that name in years. The candlelight flickered, casting ominous shapes across the walls, but the air was now heavy with more than just the presence of the demon—it was laced with guilt.
"Daniel was just a boy, like this one, wasn't he?" the demon continued, its voice sickly sweet with feigned innocence. "A boy who trusted you. A boy who came to you for help."
Marcus' throat tightened, and the Bible felt heavy in his hands. He remembered Daniel. A poor child from a broken home who had sought comfort in the church. Marcus had been young, eager to prove his devotion to God, to be a beacon of righteousness. But he had failed Daniel.
"You turned him away, didn't you?" the demon hissed. "Told him that his suffering was a test from God. That his pain would lead him to salvation."
Marcus clenched his jaw, his heart racing. He had told Daniel those very words. The boy had confided in him, confessed the abuse he had endured at home. But Marcus, consumed by the arrogance of his newfound faith, had dismissed the boy's pleas for help, choosing instead to preach about endurance and faith.
"You told him to endure it. To pray. And what happened, Father?"
Marcus closed his eyes, the memory flooding back in painful clarity. Daniel had taken his own life a week later. The church had been silent on the matter, dismissing it as a tragedy beyond their control. But Marcus knew the truth. He had failed Daniel. The guilt had gnawed at him for years, buried deep beneath layers of denial and justification.
The demon's voice grew darker, colder. "I was there when he died, you know. I watched him slip away, abandoned by the very man who was supposed to save him."
Father Marcus stumbled back, his hands trembling. The Bible slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a dull thud. The boy's head twisted further, and the demon's grin widened.
"That's why I'm here, Marcus. I didn't choose this boy at random. No, I've come because of you. I've come to finish what you started."
The room seemed to pulse with the demon's presence, its power overwhelming. Marcus could barely breathe. His sins, long buried, were being ripped open before him, exposed for all to see. He had thought he could escape his past through piety, through service to the church. But the demon had found him.
"You failed Daniel, and now, you will fail again. This boy is mine, just like Daniel was."
"Stop!" Marcus choked out, his voice weak. "Stop this!"
The demon's laughter echoed through the room. "You think you're here to save him, Father? No. You're here because I wanted you to remember. To know that your hands are just as stained as mine."
The candles flickered violently, the air thick with malevolence. The boy's body convulsed again, and the demon's voice became a low, menacing growl.
"You're no exorcist, Marcus. You're a coward. A fraud. And when I'm done with this boy, you'll know what true guilt feels like."
The demon's words struck Marcus like a hammer, each sentence peeling away at his defenses, exposing the raw truth of his failure. The boy's eyes burned with an unnatural light as the demon continued its unholy chant, feeding off Marcus' anguish.
With trembling hands, Marcus reached for the Bible on the floor, but as his fingers touched the worn pages, he knew the truth. This was no battle of wills between him and the demon. This was his punishment, his reckoning.
The boy's voice, now eerily calm, whispered one final phrase before the light in his eyes dimmed.
"It's too late, Father. It's always been too late."
And with that, the room fell into an oppressive silence. The candles flickered out, leaving Marcus alone in the dark, haunted by the demon's final words and the weight of his own unforgivable sin.