Chapter 13
Saint Agnes Basilica, Sancta Veritas
Micah and Hana exchanged glances, their hearts racing as they stood before Kiqutu, who cradled the leather-bound tome they had pilfered from the library. She placed her hands delicately upon its cover, and a golden aura began to emanate from her fingertips, enveloping the book in a warm, radiant glow. For a fleeting moment, her eyes glazed over, rendering her pupils a mere whisper of their usual clarity. After a brief silence, Kiqutu's pupils slowly reappeared, shimmering with newfound knowledge.
"What does it say?" Micah inquired, his voice tinged with urgency.
"This journal," Kiqutu began, her tone reverent, "was penned by an apprentice of a human sorcerer who traversed the four planes of existence, gathering secrets about the worlds. He foresaw in a vision the separation of our realms and spoke of two paths through which they might converge once more."
"And what are these paths?" Hana pressed, her curiosity piqued.
"One involves collecting the seven artifacts of Yahweh's temple," Kiqutu explained, her fingers tracing the ancient script. "Each artifact plays a crucial role in merging the worlds, yet retrieving them is a formidable task; most lie scattered in places inaccessible to ordinary people"
Micah's brow furrowed. "And the second way?"
"On the day of the Solstice Union" Kiqutu hesitated, as if the weight of her words threatened to suffocate her. "There will be a monumental convergence of spiritual energy, a time when the four worlds will align closer than ever. With the Eternal Key, a gateway can be opened to the very center of the universe, allowing a sacrifice to unite the worlds."
Micah gestured to the last page, where he and Hana had struggled to decipher the text. "What about this?"
"Only in the presence of the two witnesses can the merging occur," Kiqutu replied, her fingers lingering over the faded words as if they were alive.
"Two witnesses? Who are they?" Micah asked, a chill creeping into his voice.
"They are prophesied figures, as old as time itself, embodying both light and dark. Bestowed with immense power from Yahweh, they are destined to reunite the worlds and return His heirs to their rightful kingdom," Kiqutu replied, her head sinking into her hands as the burden of knowledge weighed heavily upon her.
"Enough for one night," Micah said firmly. "Let's regroup and gather our thoughts."
"Let's go find some rest. We can decipher the rest later," Hana suggested, gently helping Kiqutu to her feet.
---
At the designated battlefield, Cedric and the members of the Insidious Church had made their intentions clear: chaos was their calling.
"There is no need for needless bloodshed," Micah said, signaling for the other exorcists to descend from the van.
"Jerome, get in the van with Desmond," Micah whispered urgently.
"No, I can—"
"Now is not the time for stubbornness, Jerome. Get in the van!" Micah ordered, frustration lacing his words. With a silent curse, Jerome trudged toward the vehicle.
"The Eternal Key is still vital to my quest," Cedric declared, his finger pointed accusingly at Micah. "And you possess it."
"Me?" Micah said, disbelief coloring his tone.
"That keepsake given to you by Israel—hand it over, and we can postpone your inevitable demise," Cedric grinned maliciously.
Micah reluctantly revealed the silver key, hanging from a black cord around his neck. "Is this it?"
Cedric's eyes gleamed with desire as he examined the key. "That divine energy at its core—it's unmistakably it."
"If you want it so desperately, you'll have to come and take it," Micah challenged, defiance hardening his stance.
"I anticipated your response," Cedric shouted, his voice echoing ominously through the night. "You've brought this needless bloodshed upon yourself, Micah Orchard!"
With a roar, the members of the Insidious Church surged forward, charging at Micah and his crew.
"I'll take the leader; you lot make sure you survive!" Micah shouted, rallying his team. They nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening.
"Let's make this quick," he urged.
With a powerful leap, Micah vaulted over the oncoming attackers, his hand aglow with divine energy. He struck Cedric, who deflected the blow with a deft movement, using Micah's momentum to hurl him backward into the air.
Nova and Marcellus unleashed a dual blast of malevolent energy aimed at Fiona, who nimbly sidestepped their assault. With a swift motion, she struck the ground, causing it to tremble beneath them. As she flicked the remnants of her cigarette aside, she smirked. "Two on one? Seems fair enough."
Orion and Malachi found themselves facing Lark, whose towering presence loomed over them, casting a long shadow of intimidation.
"Oi, Oi, Oi, why did we have to pick up the giant?" Orion exclaimed, glancing nervously at his comrade.
"Because I led us to the one with the worst control over spiritual energy," Malachi replied, peeling off his overall to reveal a slim frame adorned with intricate body art. Orion followed suit, adjusting his glasses and folding his overall, placing it aside.
"I don't want to get stained," he said, adjusting his wavy, raisin-black hair.
"Do I look weak?" Lark sulked, his eyes pleading for affirmation.
Henri squared off against Kaiky, whose dark eyes glimmered as he sensed the flow of his spiritual energies. His aura entwined around him, Henri's malevolent energy tinged with threads of golden divine essence.
"That's rare," Kaiky murmured, releasing a low hum of blue flames. "Forty percent should suffice to test their strength."
"Ignition: Forty Percent!"
Tyreel and Hana stood resolutely, poised for the remaining members of the Insidious Church to strike.
"I hope they aren't weak," Tyreel muttered, squinting at the advancing four foes.
"They outnumber us; we need to tread carefully," Hana cautioned, her eyes narrowing.
"Careful? Sorry, but that's not my style!" Tyreel exclaimed, charging headlong into the fray.
Inside the van, Jerome sat restless, the thick silence pressing in around him, punctuated only by anxious glances exchanged with Desmond.
"How was it?" Desmond finally broke the tense quiet.
"How was what?" Jerome replied, his brow furrowing.
"Sorry we didn't arrive sooner," Desmond offered.
"You needn't apologize. If I were stronger, I wouldn't have been captured," Jerome lamented, his gaze drifting toward Tyreel's eager form. "When did he get here?"
"A few days back," Desmond replied, glancing sideways.
"Does my father—the Prelate—know I was kidnapped?"
"The news should have reached him. Delegates from the capital church were informed as soon as your disappearance was reported."
"Guess I look like a fool yet again," Jerome said, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
Desmond watched him through the rearview mirror, his heart aching at the sight of Jerome's struggle. Words faltered in his throat; he could not find the right ones to uplift the boy's spirit, even though he knew Jerome was a good soul.
---
A Couple of Years Ago
Saint Cecilia Sanctuary
A young Jerome lay gasping for breath, dust-covered and weary, as five unconscious exorcists sprawled across the ground like discarded marionettes. His gaze locked onto a gaunt figure with long braided hair cascading over his shoulders.
"Look at that! Jerome has truly developed into quite the exorcist, Your Majesty," a plump man exclaimed, adjusting his glasses, his face aglow with pride. "Just look at the divine energy radiating from him!"
"Don't you think so, Father?" Jamiel added, bringing his father back to the conversation.
But the Prelate walked away, ignoring Jerome's hopeful stare, his heart yearning for even a flicker of recognition.
"Father, Jerome just defeated two journeyman exorcists all by himself, and you can't even bring yourself to smile?" Jamiel shouted, frustration seeping into his voice.
The Prelate turned, his disdain palpable, and unleashed a torrent of spiritual energy that shattered the glass barricade and rattled the concrete walls. Sweat beaded on Jamiel's brow as he recoiled.
"Jerome is still weak…far too weak to be an exorcist. Do you remember how you were at his age?" he said, his tone deceptively calm, yet each word struck like a dagger.
Jerome, tears streaming down his face, felt the weight of his father's disdain.
"Pathetic," the Prelate muttered, turning his back on his son.
---
Jerome's Room
Jerome lay face down on his mattress, shrouded in darkness, the only illumination provided by the full moon filtering through the window. A loud knock echoed through the silence, but he ignored it, pulling the blanket over his head. The knocking persisted, growing more insistent.
"Go away!" he called out, frustration boiling over.
When the noise ceased, he slowly sat up, staring at the stained-glass angel illuminated by the moonlight.
"Why does he hate me?" the words escaped his lips, heavy with anguish.
"Father doesn't hate you, you know?" a thin voice answered from the shadows. Jerome whirled around, startled, as a figure dropped from the ceiling with a thud. The boy grinned up at him, rubbing the bump on his head. His red and blonde hair was disheveled, and his white shirt and shorts were stained with dirt.
"Israel? What are you doing here?" Jerome asked, incredulous.
"Shh…" Israel pressed a finger to Jerome's lips. "They mustn't know I'm here, okay?"
Jerome nodded, still in shock.
"I heard you had another testing session. How'd it go?" Israel asked, his smile unwavering.
Jerome turned his gaze to the moon. "Not that it matters. Nothing ever changes."
Israel's grin faltered slightly. "Father doesn't hate you," he repeated, his voice softening. "He's just... protective. He doesn't want you to turn out like me."
"It wasn't your fault," Jerome murmured.
"Well..." Israel lay back on the bed, his eyes scanning the ceiling. "I'm still a stain on the Michael family name. I became an exorcist against Father's wishes." He raised his hand to the ceiling, turning his palm to reveal a red pentagram encircled by runes. "Leviathan's malevolent energy is slowly entwining with my divine essence. That's why they keep me locked away. But I'm quite good at escaping."
Jerome sat beside him, his thoughts racing.
"What are you fighting for, then?"
Israel's eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, placing a hand on Jerome's chest. "You have to have something worth dying for, Jerome. That's the key to being strong."
"And what's your's?" Jeremiah asked
"You and Micah of course" Israel smiled
---
At the Obsidian Citadel a large black van pulled into the church's courtyard, its sleek surface reflecting the faint moonlight. Exorcists, bloodied and bruised, staggered from the vehicle, some missing limbs, others bearing grievous wounds. Jerome pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes darting to Micah, who deliberately avoided his gaze. Frantically, Jerome searched for Israel among the returning group.
"Micah!" Jerome called out, his voice trembling. "Where's Israel?"
Micah brushed past him, his face a mask of sorrow.
"Micah!" Jerome grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Where is Israel?"
Tears streamed down Micah's face as he whispered, "He's gone, Jerome."