The echo of Genesis's final invocation still hung thick in the fetid air when he straightened, chest heaving.
His eyes found the remains of Ezequiel once more laying after he carefully took him down from the cruel crucifixion, his carved smile transgressing morals in a mockery of life.
A muscle jumped in the priest's jaw as he beheld the desecrated soul that had once been Ezequiel.
Despite the grievous transgressions that had damned him, Genesis could not shake the conviction that every wretched spirit deserved solace in its final rest.
A proper Christian burial it is then.
Jaw set in a grim line, he stepped towards the gruesome crucifix one final time to see if he missed any detail, movements slow and ritually precise.
"Cain," he then called over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the cadaver. "See if you can locate something...suitable for a tomb in the mansion.
We will return this poor wretch to sacred ground."
Cain smiled and nodded before scurrying off on his macabre errand.
The others watched in mute horror as Genesis cleaned Ezequiel of those pesty insects, then took off his shredded clothes from him.
Lips pressed into a rictus line, he carried the body from his chamber and into the mansion's main foyer with painstaking dignity.
Cain reappeared clutching a dust-sheathed sarcophagus, garish and baroque, like something plucked from the catacombs of Ancient Rome.
Genesis dressed Ezequiel in a fine suit, and he was finally ready to return to dust.
Together, he and Genesis wrestled the heavy casket upright and pried open the lid.
"Place him inside," Genesis instructed through bloodless lips. "He will have his consecration."
Once Ezequiel was arrayed with rigid dignity, Genesis turned to address the knot of tourists with smoldering intensity.
"The rites shall commence immediately.
Any harboring a shred of godliness in their shriveled souls are welcome to join me in seeing this poor, damned wretch put to rest with respect."
A few furtive shuffles answered him, but then the throng parted in sullen observance as Genesis stooped to lift the sarcophagus lid once more.
When he spoke, his rich baritone seemed to resonate from the hallowed ground itself.
"Our Father who art in Heaven..."
"Though we find ourselves enshrouded in malice most unholy, let us not forget the fragile spark of humanity that yet burns within." His gaze fell upon the ornate sarcophagus with profound sorrow.
"Ezequiel walked a path scorched by sin's blackened touch, it's true.
But therein lies our shared plight as wayward children of the Lord.
For who among us has not lost their way in the deepest brambles of transgression?"
A weighty pause suffused the air as Genesis seemed to bore into their very souls.
"We gather here this night not to cast judgment, but to behold ourselves in the mirror of Ezequiel's own faltering spirit.
The Scriptures show us plainly - 'All have sinned and fallen short of the glory.' We are but beggars at the feet of He who sacrificed all."
His voice swelled with conviction, fists clenching as if to grasp the very ether.
"So while these cursed walls shed echoes of unspeakable evil, while the hungry mouth of the abyss itself seems to lie in wait...we must burn with the solitary truth of our purity of purpose!"
Genesis's impassioned timbre reached a fever pitch, eyes blazing like baptismal embers in the gloom.
"Here and now, in this mansion's profane bosom, we choose to uphold the clarion call of our humanity!
We choose grace over condemnation, light over darkness, the eternal promise of salvation!"
His arms rose in a crescendo of unshakable resolve, every soul hanging on his consecrated proclamations.
"Ezequiel was but a man, flawed and wanting like the rest of us.
Yet in enshrouding his weary remains in the sanctity of benediction, we remind ourselves of the ultimate truth - redemption lies within our grasp, so long as our spirits burn with the sacred fire of hope!"
At last, Genesis's voice washed over them in a cathartic whisper, trembling with solemn finality.
"Fare thee well, Ezequiel, thou restless son of perdition.
May the purity of this ritual pass through the veil and sing a scorching psalm of deliverance before the Lord's throne.
For we are all in need of grace."
In that scouring moment, the mansion's claws seemed to loosen their stranglehold ever so slightly.
Genesis's words had lanced through the chaos like blazing rapiers, leaving those assembled awash in the searing balm of rebirth.
No matter what sinister forces conspired against them...their unshakable faith would be their light and their deliverance.
Genesis's eulogy still hung thick in the air as the heavy sarcophagus lid thudded shut over Ezequiel's desiccated husk.
A few muffled sobs broke the stillness, but most watched on in numb deference.
The screech of rusted ironwork shattered the vigil as they muscled the sarcophagus across the parquet.
Genesis led the procession, jaw etched in granite lines with each ponderous step towards the basement.
No words were exchanged as they juddered the casket down the creaking stairs.
The flickers of torchlight cast a danse macabre of leering shadows to either side.
Only the occasional sniff or sharp inhalation disturbed the quiet.
At the bottom, a rough-hewn niche waited, the stale air clotted with damp and disuse.
With a silent nod, Genesis gripped the sarcophagus's edge and they upended it into the gaping tomb with a dull crunch of settling weight.
One by one, everyone shuffled forward in the gloom to scoop shovelfuls of caked earth over the casket's lid.
It was Pierre who insisted on taking the last few turns, sprinkling the final layers of loam over Ezequiel's eternal resting place.
His skeletal arms shook with the effort, yet his eyes burned with grim, wordless purpose.
Only when the deed was complete, the crude crypt sealed behind a fresh mound of soil, did Genesis turn to address the others.
His piercing gaze raked across each haggard face in the guttering torchlight.
"My brothers and sisters," he murmured at last, "I know this place weighs heavily on your souls.
Its echoes of defilement would break the most steadfast of faiths, even the strongest men and women."
Genesis pressed both palms into the loose grave-dirt, fingers splaying with deliberate reverence.
"But I urge you all to gird your spirits and stand unbowed before the onslaught.
The Joker and his depraved type crave the satisfaction of seeing us scattered and cowed.
So we must present an impenetrable wall against their blasphemies, no matter how shocking."
Slowly, he stood to his full height, clods of earth trickling from his cassock.
"Tonight, we will keep vigil in each other's company.
No one shall face the darkness alone until the sun rebirths us from this nightmare.
We shall keep the lamps of fellowship and faith burning brightly all through the small hours."
And so it was that the band of beleaguered souls retreated to the mansion's Great Hall.
Some huddled beneath threadbare blankets, others propped against cracked wainscoting as sleepless sentinels.
But they remained unified under the weight of Genesis's indomitable conviction.
The priest himself found a spot near the great fireplace and sank onto his knees, barely registering as the others arranged their camps for the coming night.
Sleep called with a seductive, opiate whisper...but he dared not surrender his faculties.
Not here, not in this benighted pit of horrors where every shadow surely concealed fresh blasphemies.
No, he would keep his inner fire kindled and his mind vigilant even as his body demanded rest.
For the seeds of insight often took root within this twilight realm of half-wakefulness.
Is the Joker an Abyssal Gift holder?
And if so, how had this malignant force come to know of our Abyssal Gifts in the first place?
Had it spied upon their most private confessionals, drinking in every disclosure?
His jaw clenched at the obscene violation, knuckles whitening on the chair arms.
The demoralizing truth was inescapable - they were not alone in the mansion's corpulent embrace.
This place harbored eyes and ears even now, slavering for their deepest frailties to ravage and corrupt.
But what of the others, the two remaining Abyssaly Gifted souls amongst them?
Genesis cast a measured glance across the room's slumbering occupants.
Which of them still remained touched by Ninkalammu's ancient malediction?
Whose inner demons had yet to be laid bare for vivisection?
A hushed murmur escaped his cracked lips as Genesis sank back, letting his eyelids slit to study the fading coals.
"Let everyone slumber, for within dreams, we journey to a realm entirely our own.
There, we may soar above the loftiest mountains or traverse the most profound abysses."
Rest may have been beyond his reach this night...but perhaps a fitful, waking trance could yet grant some shed of illumination to scatter the shadows growing ever longer and deeper within these forsaken halls.
Then his eyes slid out of focus, consciousness suspended between this world and the unknowable secrets surely lurking just beneath its thin veil...