Dead Moon Chapel | ✔️

six

HUNDREDS OF EYES FOLLOWED ABEL as he carried the body of the patriarch through the doors of the Chapel. His eyes followed them back, all at once, from every angle. Where he'd once only seen shapes and colors, he could now see everything around him in such vivid detail that it felt like his head was going to split.

It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt, he only felt.

Malachi was no longer falling apart, in a literal sense. Abel didn't know how he'd done that. He didn't know how he'd done any of this, really. But even though Abel stopped his organs from falling out, he didn't heal him completely. He needed to get him to the medical wing.

No one was coming to his aid. The sight of him placed them all in a trance, awe and horror cementing them in place.

"Someone help him!" he finally bellowed, frustrated by their lack of urgency. A handful of priests managed to snap out of their frenzy, scurrying off to fetch assistance.

It was his own nurses who appeared. They were stunned for a moment, though once they realized it was Abel, they were quick to snap out of their fearful staring. They took Malachi from his arms, placing him onto a gurney and rushing him out of the foyer.

"Brother Atherton?" said a voice.

Abel turned to see the elderly bishop from before. He could see every fine detail of his skin, every wrinkle, every pore, every mole. This newfound clarity was far too overwhelming.

"Yes. It's me."

He towered over the bishop now, by at least two heads. Abel didn't like that, either, how small everyone suddenly was.

There were stars in the bishop's eyes, and he adjusted his grip on his cane. As soon as he realized he was kneeling, Abel took a step forward, outstretching his hands. He stopped himself before he touched him. Abel didn't know what this power could do to him, and he had no way to control it.

"Bishop, that won't be necessary," he said instead, rubbing his temple.

The old man did not relent. "You have been touched by the Hand of God, Brother. I am blessed to be in your presence."

"I... um, I appreciate it. But I am really just a vessel. I'm not a Saint nor a God, honestly, this just happened... Oh, please just stand up." He glanced around to make sure there was nobody nearby to see the bishop and follow his example.

The bishop stood at last. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Brother Atherton. But you are truly divinity. I am in the presence of an angel."

"No." His short tone startled the man, but he amended it with an awkward laugh. "No, I'm no angel. This is just... uh..." He tossed a glance over his shoulder at the wings on his back. He could see a ring of light around his head from one eye that was particularly high up on his forehead. He sighed. "I suppose I do have some angelic properties. But I was...born of man. So sorry to disappoint."

The man shook his head. "There is no way to disappoint me, young man."

Abel gave him a tight smile. He did not wish to ponder on that sentiment. "I'm, uh, going to go check on Father Malachi. It was lovely to speak with you, Bishop."

With that, he turned on his heel, abruptly to avoid any further conversation about whatever divinity he possessed. This all had to be some sort of a fever dream, perhaps the demoness was still lurking and trapping him in her illusions. He was in the same place he'd always known, but in an instant, it became so foreign to him. Abel was a stranger in his own home. It was a nightmare.

If Zora were here, she would not make him feel like this. She'd make him feel like a person, a human, as she always did.

The doors to the medical wing were large to accommodate many bodies and bulky equipment. Even still, Abel had to fold his wings in to fit through the arch. It took him several moments to figure out how to do that, but he managed eventually. He expected it to feel like navigating a new and unfamiliar limb, yet the sensation came naturally to him, like a body part he was never conscious of but always had.