Requiem for the living

Chapter 14: The Matches' Theory

The odds air of mystery had the Devil's chamber filled with the seed taken from the fruit of wisdom Mary Jackson had taken a bite from. There was gratitude in her eyes, remebering the flutter of wings of the goetic figure that has shown what flawed human nature never had the chance to comprehend - that friendship can defy the differences between individuals. Only if it was a true one...

One night after the meeting pagan priest Gerard Way had with Brendon Urie that seemed to have been sub rosa, the cryptex was yet to be opened as the memory of her childhood was lying the daughter of the senator, and little did she knew it was nothing more than a trap.

'Almost there'...He thought, counting compulsively the twists her fingers did in that attempt to decypher the cryptex.

Almost.

The thoughts were getting tangled lile fishnet around Brendon's mind that was seeing the odds of shedding human's essence once again being brought to life by his incapability. And the outrageous side of the situation is that, for the first time in his life, he felt emotionless. For the first time, Brendon Urie broke the chain of slavery and cutted himself free from the burden empathy was. The reason wasn't to him explainable. Not yet.

-Click-

One to go. One already. The frustration in the waiting was sitting on Brendon's shoulders just like the goetic patron would flutter his heavy wings to show superiority, like he would have felt that the prolific scent of sweat that was dripping off his skin had suddenly mixed with the one of sulphur that he may feel for the ethernity.

"You will bring it to me kneeling" The quietness of that room got his mind filled again with the stabbing words of Gerard Way told one night ago, and the fear of the truth found in that appearantly nonsense made him a slave that had to obbey to its master, a glorious torturer of souls and minds. Brendon Urie will complete that trinity as he will become one of bodies.

"You have free will" But does he, as he seems to be chained like an animal to deny his instinct, the urge of protecting what he loved and loves and always will love, like in an untold promise he is afraid  to make? And how could Brendon Urie ever think that choosing not to kill Mary Catenacci, falsely named Jackson would be his worst mistake of his life?

-Click-

The criptex protested again with that sound, and he could have almost felt the spirits of the past trying to rip the veil of silence between the living and the dead to warn all about the mistake of leaving the key in a human's hands, to defy the punishment Adonai has implented deeply in the humans flawed nature, the only beings that became torturers of their own kind, and after all, of themselves. And as he could have heard the last click that the cryptex that once layed in the hands of Fra Luca Pacioli and Leonardo DaVinci himself, he read the word, the infamous name that was nothing else than a secret kept for centuries - the name of the being that was the guardian devil of DaVinci, afterwards Catenacci family for hundreds of years.

Hasmodai?

Would it be the one patron with the bow and arrow, omnipresent in the dreams when full moon lights the sky of night¹, the oddious creature with green skin and leather wings that flutter as it grabs its victims with its claws just to persuade them with the most clever trick ever pulled by a daemon, a minor gouvernor of the sign of Lunae that has the principal as Schedbarschemoth² - to aknowledge the victims weakness just for them to give it all away?

Mary Catenacci always wanted a friend. The patron sensed it.

And like that, in the frivol intimacy of a chamber of secrets, the key of all mistakes from the past was being unlocked just to be revealed, shining in the dim light, with its skull and ring that was like the beginning of a deja-vu, or more like another piece of the puzzle. If only Brendon Urie could have known before doing the worst mistake of his life that shape of the key that resembled with horrifing accuracy the symbol on the priest Gerard Way's rosacrux. And little did Mary Jackson knew she just opened Pandora's box.