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A COUPLE OF YEARS AGO
Saint Cecilia Sanctuary, Obsidian Citadel
The Cemetery
The air was thick with the haunting strains of a violin, its mournful notes rising above the muffled sobs of mourners gathered around a freshly dug grave. Young Micah, Hana, Karlee, and Kiqutu stood together, clutching a framed photograph of their dearly departed friend, Israel. In the picture, Israel's bright smile shone like a beacon, a stark contrast to the grief-stricken faces surrounding him. As the priest recited the final prayers, the casket was lowered into the earth, the sound of dirt striking wood echoing painfully. Nearby, young Jerome sank to his knees, his fist pounding the ground as the violin reached a heart-wrenching crescendo, then fell silent.
A slender man, clad in a simple black tuxedo, approached the grave with brisk movement. He muttered a silent prayer before turning to the gathered crowd, adjusting his glasses with a steady hand.
"Today, we mourn the loss of another precious soul, a beloved member of our church... my younger brother," he said, his voice resonating with gravity. "I am Ecclesiastical Commander Jamiel Michael, head of the Saint Cecilia Sanctuary. I pray that his humble soul rests in Yahweh's abode. This tragedy underscores the power wielded by the Insidious Covenant Church and the stranglehold Darkness has on our world. Yet, I vow that his sacrifice will not be in vain. In a matter of days, I shall lead an offensive against this blemish upon our world and avenge our brother." He bowed his head slightly.
"Let's go, Micah," Karlee urged softly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.
"I think I'll stay here for a while," he replied, his gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to meet her eyes.
"Micah, you did—" Kiqutu began, her voice faltering.
"Kiqutu, please," Micah interrupted, his tone heavy.
"Come on, let's go," Hana said, gently guiding the others away from the cemetery.
As the mourners departed, tears trickled down Micah's cheeks, the weight of his sorrow pressing down upon him. The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, and he hastily wiped his face.
"You don't have to hide your tears, kid," Fiona said, stepping closer, her expression a mixture of understanding and sympathy.
"I wasn't crying," Micah insisted his voice lacked conviction.
"Good luck trying to hide that," she replied with a hint of a smile as she lit a cigarette, the flame flickering in the dim light.
"Should you really be smoking at your age?" he asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from his emotions.
"It helps take your mind off things you shouldn't be dwelling on. Want to give it a try?" she offered, holding the cigarette out to him.
"I heard you were the one who exorcised Israel," she continued, her tone turning serious.
"I wasn't strong enough," Micah admitted, his voice thick with remorse.
"How so?" Fiona pressed, curiosity etched on her features struggling to light the cigarette
"If I had been stronger... he wouldn't have had to overexert himself with the demon's malevolent energy. I could have protected him. I failed him," Micah confessed, his voice breaking under the weight of his guilt.
"You're stronger than you realize. No one could have—"
"Stop it. Just stop! You all should stop... I couldn't protect the one family I had left. Damn it, I ended up killing him myself. If I had been strong enough, Israel wouldn't have been possessed by that demon. I saw it in his eyes, behind that smile he gave me when he begged me to kill him. He said it would be fine, but he didn't want to die. Israel didn't want to die!" Micah's composure shattered, and he wept openly, his sobs echoing in the stillness.
Fiona offered him her half-smoked cigarette, but he swatted it away, his frustration boiling over.
"Are you even listening?" Micah snapped, catching a glimpse of tears glistening on Fiona's cheeks.
"Fiona..." he whispered, a pang of regret slicing through him.
"It would have been what Israel wanted—dying at the hands of his family, seeing his friends instead of succumbing to the demon. Micah, don't carry the burden of blame for what happened to Israel. It looks like rain is coming; let's go," she said, leaving him behind with a cigarette and a lighter. A faint smile flickered across both their faces, a momentary reprieve from their sorrow.
The Chancel
"Senior Exorcist Micah Orchard, here is the task you requested from the church," Jamiel said, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed on Micah with an intensity that made the young man shift uncomfortably.
"Yes, Commander. I'll destroy the Satanist group and avenge Israel," Micah replied, rage burning in his eyes.
"But you know," Jamiel began, rising from his chair, his footsteps light on the wooden floor, causing Micah to break out in a slight sweat, "the closure you seek won't come from revenge."
"I don't understand," Micah admitted, confusion knitting his brow.
"You know I lost my mother on a mission not long ago. It left a gaping hole in my family—my siblings scattered across the globe, and the Prelate... well, we all know how the Prelate can be."
"What's your point?" Micah asked, impatience creeping into his voice.
"The point is... don't make a mistake you'll regret," Jamiel warned, his tone grave.
*Later...*
Micah stood before a rickety old gate, his eyes vacant and lost. The evening wind whipped around him, tugging at his scarf as flashes of lightning crackled ominously in the sky. With a deep breath, he stretched out his hand, and the gate burst open with a thunderous bang.
"Intruder!" a voice shouted, filled with alarm.
"Let the wrath of the angel of thunder and lightning rise to my aid!" Micah intoned, transforming into his divine form, unleashing a torrent of spiritual energy that crackled through the air.
The men of the settlement rallied to defend themselves, but a mere flick of Micah's wrist sent lightning tearing through their ranks. Another group emerged—seven men, each clutching a talisman. In unison, they sliced their wrists, blood dripping onto the talismans. Their bodies disintegrated into ashes, only to reassemble as grotesque creatures, hellish and menacing, that charged at Micah with a blood-curdling roar.
"Tempest," Micah whispered, his voice steady.
A stream of blinding lightning erupted from his outstretched hand, obliterating the fiends and reducing them to mere dust. But then, a child's scream pierced the chaos, cutting through the din of battle like a knife. Micah's attention snapped to a burning building that creaked ominously, its structure groaning under the weight of flames. He hesitated, but then—
"No, Kevin!" a woman cried, her voice filled with terror.
With no time to spare, Micah dashed forward, snatching the child from the crumbling wreckage just in the nick of time.
°
"Rakael, come on, hurry!"
A man pulled a young Rakael toward an underground compartment, urgency etched on his face.
"Dad, what's happening?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the debris raining down around them.
"That person is an exorcist from the capital, and he's come to kill us all," he replied, his voice quaking with fear.
"Why... what did we do wrong?"
"We've committed acts that others deem wicked, but they were necessary for our survival," he explained, urgency fueling his every word.
He crashed through a wooden door, ushering Rakael upward through a gap in the roof.
"Father..." Rakael's gaze locked onto a stone altar, the remnants of dried blood splattered across the room like dark memories.
"Rakael, listen to me. You carry angelic blood, and you are part of a prophecy. You must fulfill it. Come, there's no time!" he urged, his grip tightening as he attempted to guide her toward the altar.
"Father..." Rakael hesitated, uncertainty gnawing at her.
"Rakael, please, we don't have time!" he pleaded desperately. In his frustration, he knocked her unconscious with a swift strike.
"Grande dio delle tenebre, eterno dio dell'inganno, ti preghiamo, ascolta la nostra preghiera," he chanted, laying her upon the altar.
He slashed his wrist, allowing his blood to drip into a steel grail, then poured it down Rakael's throat, his voice rising in ancient incantations. Thunder roared outside, and the wind ripped the roof away as Micah descended, disgust etched on his features as he faced Rakael's father.
"You monster... I had so much faith in you as I grew up, Master, but you've strayed from the path of truth to join this... abomination," Micah's voice trembled with fury.
"Truth? Don't make me laugh, Micah. The church is filled with lies and deceptions. The concept of God is a farce, but the prophecy of the two witnesses will reveal the truth. Just the thought of that was seen as blasphemy by the church, and I refuse to live in that lie," Rakael's father sneered, his eyes alight with madness.
"Is that why you placed a sigil on Israel?" Micah asked, his voice icy.
"I was searching for the other witness. It seems it wasn't meant to be..."
With a heavy heart, Micah raised his hand, gathering lightning in the sky, a tempest brewing.
"Guess you've made your choice," Rakael's father said, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
In a flash, Micah unleashed the cascading lightning upon them.
Sparks of black flames erupted from the incinerated altar. As the smoke began to clear, Micah descended, relinquishing his divine form. Rakael's father's charred remains fell away, revealing Rakael, now cloaked in malevolent energy, her forehead sprouting two menacing horns. She lifted her head slowly, her slit eyes locking onto Micah's. For a fleeting moment, he saw Israel's spirit reflected in her gaze, causing him to recoil. Rakael seized the opportunity, lunging at him with claws aimed for his throat. In a blinding flash, lightning struck, and Micah vanished.
Rain began to fall, steadily increasing in intensity. Rakael dropped to her knees as her horns retracted, her expression one of anguish.
"Guess it worked," a faint voice whispered, echoing in the downpour.
Rakael scrambled toward her father, who greeted her with a weary smile, his strength waning.
"Father..." she murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"It's time to go, Rakael. Seek the truth. Fulfill the prophecy..." he murmured, his voice fading like the last echoes of a forgotten song.
"Father..." she cried softly, closing his eyes as grief washed over her, fighting the urge to scream.
°
"Oh my... things are about to get interesting."
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