| 18+ | Damian looked so different with his shirt off and a crop in his hand. He felt more real: no longer wearing the mask of the good doctor, he was the Exorcist, the master over my wildest fears, the stones on the shore over which my ocean of ma...
My body was filled with a strength I could have only imagined. My feet did not feel the ground. My lungs did not grow desperate for air. My eyes could see everything and anything around me, from the heron in the grass to the cicada flying past. There were no houses now: I was surrounded by trees as the woodland grew more dense. The river was to my right and the ground was damp and soft. The oaks were hung with moss and the cypress looked as if they would lift up their almighty roots and walk out of the water.
Then there was a road again, houses amongst the trees. Broken, boarded. An old man sat on his porch with a pipe in his mouth, his eyes clouded over, unseeing. Children played naked in the mud. A woman ushered her unruly son into the house. The bridge at Bywater was ahead, old metal and wood. The Cathedral was near.
Then suddenly, in a mass of gray stone, the Cathedral of St. Benedict loomed up beside the river.
The moss upon the trees grew so long that it was like drapes. My movements felt too fast. I did not know my own strength. Everything was heightened. It was like Jackson Square all over again, except...
"We have a deal, Black One," I said. I could smell the Cathedral as I approached: ancient molding stones, dank places, wet leaves, dust, decaying wood, blood. There was blood. "We kill the Beast. Damian lives."
Laughter, a low chuckle. You will change your mind when the blood flows.
I had to remain in control. I had to harness them. It was the only way. The gray automobile that Damian and the priest had taken was parked just beside the cathedral steps. The closer I got, the louder I could hear distant voices: shouts, cries, an inhuman roar that sent chills up my back. The Beast was here, but what exactly it was I could only imagine. The priest had spoken to Damian of merely a possessed lad...but the voices knew it was something else. My father's warnings and verses came back to me as starkly as if he was standing there before me, reciting them again.
When they have finished their testimony, the beast that comes up out of the abyss will make war with them, and overcome them and kill them.
And it was given to him to give breath to the image of the beast, so that the image of the beast would even speak and cause as many as do not worship the image of the beast to be killed.
And those who dwell on the earth, whose name has not been written in the Book of Life from the foundation of the world, will wonder when they see the beast, that he was and is not and will come.
The cathedral doors were already ajar. I went into the nave, where the pews were covered in dirt and the petals of old, dried roses. There were holes in the roof, where the dim light shone down in shafts through which danced the dust of a hundred years. The marble Christ hung above the choir, haloed by a great circle of stained glass.
The stones shook beneath my feet. I knelt, and carefully laid my ear to the floor. I could hear voices below. The stones should have been cool, but they were warm and growing warmer. Two voices spoke in unison, and another answered them in vicious growls and unnatural screaming.
I had to get to the cellar.
In the transept I discovered the stairs. The glow of firelight was below, and from it rushed the sound of Damian's voice. "By our command will you offer up your name, by our command will you release this man from your possession! Genom solens kraft, månen och alla världens oceaner! Genom kraften i mitt blod, kraften i mina ben."
My heart stuttered, catching my breath. The words were almost unbearable to hear. I wanted to cover my ears and curl up into the smallest ball I could. The demons were muttering again, but Damian's voice drowned them out. Hugging the wall I crept down the stairs, and another scream ripped through the air.
"Aaaahhhh, damn you to Hell! Satan's bitch, Lucifer's sad little whore, damn you!"
I untied the cleaver, and let the rag that had covered it drop to the ground. Keeping to the shadows, I looked into the cellar for the first time. I beheld a largely empty room with but a single metal pole driven into the earth near the far wall. To the pole was chained a man in filthy clothes, a massive man, with long dark hair and a thick beard. He was thrashing, running about and jerking at the chain, trying to reach the two men who stood before him: Damian and Father Alexander Iscariot. With every rush of his thick body, the pole bent just a little more in the ground. Alexander held out a crucifix, his eyes closed as rapidly muttered prayers dropped from his lips. But Damian...god, Damian...I could hardly look at him.
His hands and face were covered in ash. Candles surrounded him on five points on the floor, and the smoke twisted around him in great thick tendrils that seemed to caress his body. His head was thrown back, his hair hanging lank and wild. In his left hand he held a black book. In his right, he held a knife covered in runes. The same knife I had seen in his desk, I was certain of it.
My body shuddered merely at the sight of him. I could not explain the deep and heart-stopping fear I felt, the urge to bow myself to the ground in submission. The Black One's strength seemed to be failing in me. My body hurt. My eyes stung.
The Exorcist must be silent. Silence him. Rip out his tongue. Stop him. Leave. Turn back.
I nearly leapt out of my skin. Somehow, I was within a few mere steps of the red-haired man and had only just noticed him. But he had already noticed me. His gaze on me felt cold in the intense heat of the room. He was perched cross-legged atop of a pile of old, cobweb-covered boards, and was chewing on one of his disturbingly long fingernails.
"That's quite the crowd you've brought with you," he whispered. Even in a hushed voice, his tone was deep. He glanced down at my cleaver sceptically. "Why are you here?"
His calm demeanor was strange to see amidst the chaos ensuing. "I'm here to save him," I said. I knew he would understand to whom I was referring. "Why are you here?"
He smirked, sliding his tongue over his sharp teeth. "To collect his soul," he said. He sniffed, and turned away from me as he folded his arms. "Although now that you've arrived, I may very well be denied once again."
I did not have time to question what it all meant. I no longer even had time to think.
Suddenly, in a massive bull-like rush, the chained man pulled the pole out of the ground, swinging it like a javelin. Father Alexander was struck squarely across the face, blood splattering as he was knocked to the ground. But Damian crouched in time for the pole to sail over his head and crash back against the wall. I could not even imagine the strength that was in the man to manage to swing a six foot metal pole around an entire room on a heavy chain. Surely it was the power to crush me with one fist.
The chained man panted, spittle flying from his mouth as he stood just outside Damian's ring of candles. Damian stood, his face like stone, his knuckles white where they gripped the dagger. He did not look frightened. He did not back away an inch. Perhaps it was because the massive man was not looking at him.
He was looking at me.
His pupils dilated, his eyes went black. In a shuddering, roaring rage he screamed so loud as to shake the very foundation of the old cathedral: "TAKE ME BACK TO HELL, LEGION!"
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A/N: Yay demon fights! But should Samara even be trying to bend the demons to her own will? Or is she only sinking lower into doing exactly what they want her to?
