Here Comes The Son (Ghost Band / Papa Emeritus fic)

An Ambiguous Threat

Copia rubbed the bridge of his nose and briefly closed his eyes, trying not to draw attention to his discomfort as he sat back into the soft support of the couch in his dressing room. Normally this would be a moment of silence for him to gather his thoughts before warming up his voice for the ritual. He was always careful with his voice, the rituals were an important way of spreading the unholy message. It gave him direct contact with his flock, which he loved, and he was having the ride of his life - the rush of their screams, singing along and impure love washing over him every night was beyond words. He knew now how it had managed to turn Terzo's head towards living the lifestyle instead of the message. It was utterly intoxicating and Terzo had been, if nothing else, addicted to any and all forms of intoxicant. Determined not to follow the same path as Terzo and be dragged offstage then, Hell forbid, beheaded as a powerful warning to others, Copia made sure the shows, while fun and entertaining, were all about the message. It seemed to be working too - people talked about the shows, took videos for YouTube and played music for their friends. The message was going out ever faster and further every day. Papa Nihil had been thrilled to hear that one of his songs had gone viral on TikTok. Not that he particularly understood what that meant but he had been told it was a good thing. All the attention brought new members to the flock, new music but of course, new backlash.

It was the backlash that concerned him today as he sat in his dressing room, guarded by two of his beloved ghouls, his family, the only family he had every really had.

The Clergy had received threats against him. This was nothing particularly new, there were always threats throughout all of their papacies, but for some reason these had been taken seriously, or at least more seriously than usual. It had been the nature of the threats that concerned them - this batch were different. Typically, some radical Christian group would utter some vague threat about what God would do to him and the band and that would be all. Nothing for them to worry about - even with all their increased success, God generally had more important things to focus His attention on.

The more vocal of the groups would denounce him as some sort of demon, which he understood, it was their go to belief. But he found it amusing, sometimes to the point of hilarity, that despite believing in Satan, these groups never actually believed that his Ghouls were in fact demons from Hell, but humans in masks pretending to be demons. The irony and amusement value lay in the fact that even though he understood the possibility that God might rain down His wrath on him, his Ghouls were safe. There had been an understanding in place for millennia - Satan left angels alone provided God left demons alone. It was a potentially fragile but so far long lasting truce.

This time, the threats had come from an anonymous source and had targeted him directly with their own personal wrath. The Clergy finally had a successful figurehead for the Ghost project who was actually concentrating on the message. Despite some members of the Clergy's open hostility towards Copia, as a collective they supported him to the point of insisting he be kept safe. In Copia's personal opinion, they had made the mistake of ordering his Ghouls to, in their words, make sure he survived the tour. The Ghouls had taken their duty not just seriously but personally. As a result, he had barely been left alone for a moment. At first, showers and bathroom breaks had become decidedly awkward, but he had put his foot down. Now, here he was at the third ritual of the tour and all had gone well so far. So much so that Copia couldn't help but feel the threats had been some sort of crank. Now it was forty minutes until stage call and the Ghoul guard had changed to allow Cirrus and Rain to get ready. Now, Dew and Swiss were standing either side of him, even with their masks on somehow both appeared stern, ready to rip apart any intruder who wished harm on their Papa.

Copia really needed to relax and prepare himself but the tension from the two demons was filling the room and forcing his normal pre-ritual nerves into full-blown anxiety, which grew in intensity with each growl. Normally, this type of demon growl, often used as a call to each other within their own pack, was below the range of human hearing. Somehow, like no other Papa before him, Copia had adapted and while hearing it wasn't the correct term, he could certainly detect it, more like a rumble through the air making the hairs on his skin prickle and rise.