One Silver Coin For a Pound of Demon

Chapter 35

Draft
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Before this day, you thought that waiting for unknown doom was the greatest suffering. Before this moment, you felt that your fear of death was the most fearful you'd ever be in your life. But at that moment, when the knock on the door rang, you realized that everything before was insignificant.

The sword of Damocles, which have been falling for some unknown time, finally touched your scalp at this moment. The cold penetrated into his your bone marrow.

Your brother took you out of the cellar, and you pray that you don't meet anyone until the candy melts, but you bump into your father head-on. It was as if yesterday had reappeared, as if it was destined, you were as frightened as you were in the past, and blood froze under your skin. But now you're an adult, your "contraband" is the living Lemuel, he's still alive, and you want to keep him alive.

"Hide!" You say to Lemuel.

Lemuel nods quickly, but you were still worried, grabbing him and emphasising: "No matter what happens, never come out!"

He frowns when you say this. Lemuel looks at you inquiringly, you pretend not to see and walk out quickly. You close the door of the guest bedroom, you take out the key under the sofa cushion, lock the guest room, and slide the key into the door along the gap under. You rush into the bathroom, tossing Lemuel's toothbrush and toiletries into the cupboard, you then go to the kitchen and tear off all the sticky notes on the refrigerator ("There's pudding in the fridge, good night") and throw them into the trash. These illusions are better than nothing, and you could've prepared better if you had the time, but this has left you with only a few minutes to react.

After the few minutes, the door opened by itself.

This house has been built by you as a fortress against demons. Even if the town falls under a tide of demons, your house can last for a few days. Prayer of exorcism are hidden in all kinds of places. In front of the demons who can only rampage, they are scorpions and thorns, but for the clergy, they are just paper walls.

The protection was torn open layer by layer, and the back door lock was smashed, leaving only a muffled sound. You stand in the living room, facing the hallway, watching the uninvited guests. Four, four people in total. Their faces are unfamiliar yet familiar to you.

The uninvited guests are all dressed in robes, not the priest's black clothes, but the khaki-colored robes of monks. That's the costume of the staff in the Chapel, the usual costume of your entourage. The people wearing this robe are as inconspicuous as dirt, silently buried in their work like worker bees in a hive. But it's not the clothes that give you familiarity, but their gestures, their expressions, their eyes... You feel a terrible intimacy.

It seems that there's a special smell that only people from the same place can smell- no, even people who live there all the time can't detect it, just like how sea fishes can't detect the saltiness of the sea. You've been away from the group for so long, your lungs are full of fresh air. You never noticed before, but now you know what they are when you look into their eyes. Sacred statues, God's shepherds. They are a part of a hundred. Just like you, like your brothers and sisters, and the many, many faceless people who walked around you like shadows.

The person in the head is slightly taller, the third person is the shortest, the second person has slightly bulging cheekbones, and the fourth person has a less pronounced aquiline nose. They all walk in, there are four of them, but none of them is the Son.

Is there anyone else? But the connection was clearly in front of him, in the middle of the four. You look down and see what looks like a compass in the second person's hand, the needle points at you. You suddenly realize what you were sensing.