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sspky
ooof my bones
It was raining in Amebridge. This was hardly a rare occurrence, especially this early in March. It had been coming down in frigid sheets for the last four days, clogging the stone streets of the heritage East Carlin district with pools of mud and refuse.
East Carlin was an anachronistic borrow. It was one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Amebridge, but it had fallen into disrepair at the turn of the century, gradually morphing into one of the city’s shameful slums. Over the past five years, a great deal of money had been pumped into gentrification of East Carlin, resulting in a strange mixture of beautifully restored manors set between rundown brownstone rowhouses.
Brother Falker was currently standing in the lobby of one such dissolute apartment block. Although he was Disciple of the Order of the Blessed Watch, Noel Eustice Falker was an unassuming man. He wore a pair of black slacks, a stiff (and presently water-soaked) Greca, and a pair of dress shoes polished to a sheen. He was a clean-shaven man with high cheekbones, thin lips, and a sharp, wedge of a nose that stood out rather noticeably on his face. His dark hair was cut short and parted nearly to one side.
There were two other men in the lobby with him. The trio conversed in hushed voices, an electric air of unease cutting between them. If Brother Falker seemed calm compared to his companions, it was only because years of experience in the art of Excorsism had taught him well how to keep his emotions in check.
“Mr. Crayford should be ready now, at any rate.” one of the two men said
“Well then, let’s begin.” Brother Falker replied and followed the men into the neighbouring unit.
The apartment was small, dirty, and devoid of furniture. Anything that could be moved had been shoved into the small bedroom, leaving the living space virtually empty.
One Nathan Crayford, the apartment’s current sole occupant, had been bound firmly to a heavy metal chair situated in the center of a white chalk circle drawn on the wooden floor. Brother Falker stood before him, while his two companions carefully lit the nine candles encircling the prone man.
East Carlin was an anachronistic borrow. It was one of the oldest neighbourhoods in Amebridge, but it had fallen into disrepair at the turn of the century, gradually morphing into one of the city’s shameful slums. Over the past five years, a great deal of money had been pumped into gentrification of East Carlin, resulting in a strange mixture of beautifully restored manors set between rundown brownstone rowhouses.
Brother Falker was currently standing in the lobby of one such dissolute apartment block. Although he was Disciple of the Order of the Blessed Watch, Noel Eustice Falker was an unassuming man. He wore a pair of black slacks, a stiff (and presently water-soaked) Greca, and a pair of dress shoes polished to a sheen. He was a clean-shaven man with high cheekbones, thin lips, and a sharp, wedge of a nose that stood out rather noticeably on his face. His dark hair was cut short and parted nearly to one side.
There were two other men in the lobby with him. The trio conversed in hushed voices, an electric air of unease cutting between them. If Brother Falker seemed calm compared to his companions, it was only because years of experience in the art of Excorsism had taught him well how to keep his emotions in check.
“Mr. Crayford should be ready now, at any rate.” one of the two men said
“Well then, let’s begin.” Brother Falker replied and followed the men into the neighbouring unit.
The apartment was small, dirty, and devoid of furniture. Anything that could be moved had been shoved into the small bedroom, leaving the living space virtually empty.
One Nathan Crayford, the apartment’s current sole occupant, had been bound firmly to a heavy metal chair situated in the center of a white chalk circle drawn on the wooden floor. Brother Falker stood before him, while his two companions carefully lit the nine candles encircling the prone man.
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CadetBlue
The road so far
Nathan was kind of a loser, but that’s why he liked him. Before he was possessed, he was a timid man, who seemed to blend into the shadows and search for the walls in large rooms. His face didn’t stand out enough to catch anyone’s attention, and certainly not the opposite gender that he was always watching from afar. His eyes were too small and far apart. His body was willowy and he never seemed to know what to do with his long limbs when around other people. His backbone seemed to have all the willpower of a dead snake, he sagged, he drooped, he slouched. Beyond looks were his demeanour; he walked down the street as if a sniper was always sitting in one of the buildings, and would kill him if Nathan didn’t calculate his every step. He was a man who needed a friendly push, hell, he should be thank’ing the demon for taking the driver’s seat and actually getting him to live his life for the last month.
Without him, Nathan would never have had the guts to quit his job, or hit on a girl in a bar. Drink to his hearts content and gamble away the night. Those were all things he had wanted to do his whole life, but never had the courage.
Yet he didn’t seem to appreciate it. Nathan had managed to contact the church while the demon was resting, and before he had a chance to flee the place was already crawling with the righteous priests. He had tried to make Nathan jump out the window, but the host had gained control at the very last minute. Then the holy gang had used some kind of binding that made him feel like a fish on a hook, before dragging him off and throwing them into this metal chair.
Even now he was feeling like someone had drugged him. Nathan had gained control during all of that. “Get him out! Get him out of me! Hurry!”
‘Ungrateful,’ the demon scoffed back to Nathan’s mind only.
Nathan kept hurrying them up and begging, while the men started getting the ritual ready. The demon behind Nathan’s eyes quietly observing, as they started drawing on the floor, like a predator lying in wait. If he was quick, maybe he could catch one of them. He would need to be in the front seat to exit though. Nathan let out a last choked complaint, before his head lulled forward and his brown eyes closed. When they opened again they were a bright blue, and all traces of panic had vanished. He straightened up more confident and calmly started observing the people working on the ritual, he was feeling a bit weak still, but he was gaining strength every minute.
“Ah. These ropes are kind of hurting my wrists. I must say I don’t usually do this kind of stuff,” he told them, but they ignored him. “Is this a first for you too? Or do you do this all the time? Would be nice with someone experienced?” His eyes watched them amused, even when they gave him no reactions. “Come on, you can at least give me a drink. None of that stuff from earlier though, gave me a headache,” he chuckled under his breath, referring to the holy water that had felt like pure acid down his throat. “…No?” he asked, even as the priests eyes remained downcast, if not a bit annoyed.
He just needed them closer, he doubted pity would work, so he would have to finagling some outbursts. “…Don’t I get a last meal or something? Can I request a last wish?” He kept lightly chatting, while the priests finished with the set-up, until there were only candles left. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic. As if the symbols were large invisible walls, that was starting to squeeze him the more were created.
He stopped chatting when a new priest entered though. Piercing blue eyes going from provocative and playful, to observant and curious. There was something different about this person, which was evident as soon as he entered the room. His aura was prominently filling the room, in a way that only a leader's could do. His eyes were what caught his interest the most; they were serious and deep, but also had a hardness to them from either having seen too much or done too much. It peaked his interest.
Without him, Nathan would never have had the guts to quit his job, or hit on a girl in a bar. Drink to his hearts content and gamble away the night. Those were all things he had wanted to do his whole life, but never had the courage.
Yet he didn’t seem to appreciate it. Nathan had managed to contact the church while the demon was resting, and before he had a chance to flee the place was already crawling with the righteous priests. He had tried to make Nathan jump out the window, but the host had gained control at the very last minute. Then the holy gang had used some kind of binding that made him feel like a fish on a hook, before dragging him off and throwing them into this metal chair.
Even now he was feeling like someone had drugged him. Nathan had gained control during all of that. “Get him out! Get him out of me! Hurry!”
‘Ungrateful,’ the demon scoffed back to Nathan’s mind only.
Nathan kept hurrying them up and begging, while the men started getting the ritual ready. The demon behind Nathan’s eyes quietly observing, as they started drawing on the floor, like a predator lying in wait. If he was quick, maybe he could catch one of them. He would need to be in the front seat to exit though. Nathan let out a last choked complaint, before his head lulled forward and his brown eyes closed. When they opened again they were a bright blue, and all traces of panic had vanished. He straightened up more confident and calmly started observing the people working on the ritual, he was feeling a bit weak still, but he was gaining strength every minute.
“Ah. These ropes are kind of hurting my wrists. I must say I don’t usually do this kind of stuff,” he told them, but they ignored him. “Is this a first for you too? Or do you do this all the time? Would be nice with someone experienced?” His eyes watched them amused, even when they gave him no reactions. “Come on, you can at least give me a drink. None of that stuff from earlier though, gave me a headache,” he chuckled under his breath, referring to the holy water that had felt like pure acid down his throat. “…No?” he asked, even as the priests eyes remained downcast, if not a bit annoyed.
He just needed them closer, he doubted pity would work, so he would have to finagling some outbursts. “…Don’t I get a last meal or something? Can I request a last wish?” He kept lightly chatting, while the priests finished with the set-up, until there were only candles left. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was starting to feel more and more claustrophobic. As if the symbols were large invisible walls, that was starting to squeeze him the more were created.
He stopped chatting when a new priest entered though. Piercing blue eyes going from provocative and playful, to observant and curious. There was something different about this person, which was evident as soon as he entered the room. His aura was prominently filling the room, in a way that only a leader's could do. His eyes were what caught his interest the most; they were serious and deep, but also had a hardness to them from either having seen too much or done too much. It peaked his interest.
sspky
ooof my bones
Brother Falker observed the scene with practiced reticence, his hands folded in front of him and his shoulders squared. He trusted the priests to perform their roles with excellence but kept a close eye on them nevertheless. There were so many variables at play during an Excorism; and so many opportunities for something to go terribly wrong.
Although casualties were not uncommon, Brother Falker certainly felt more at peace with his vocation when the victims of these demonic entities survived their ordeal. At the end of the day, the Church’s priority was the banishment and containment of these transdimensional beings.
“Brother, are you ready?” one of the priests asked, knowing better than to use any proper names in the presence of the demonic creature.
Nodding, Falker instructed two of the youngest men to exit the apartment. They would remain outside the door, listening carefully for any indication that they should intervene with their support. That left three of them total -- Brothers Falker, Glas, and Sullivan. Although Sullivan was nearly 15 years Falkers senior, he had considerably less experience. Likewise, Glas was a mere three months younger than Falker and reasonably skilled but had seen only a few genuine possessions in his lifetime. Both men deferred to the Falker’s judgement.
As with most of the Churches rituals, an Exorscim came three parts. It began with the Sacrament, moved on to the Absolution, and then concluded with the Atonement.
The Sacrament represented the anointment of the sick. The host of the entity would need strength if they were to survive their ordeal. Unfortunately, the demonic entity would feed off of such strength. Therefore, it was vital to maintain a careful balance - to support the host, while depriving the interloper.
Brother Falker finally turned away from the demon. Brother Glas held a golden thurible, which Brother Sullivan dutifully lit. A heady odour filled the room, as the dry spice of the incense burner mixed with the sweet smoke from the ceremonial candles.
Brother Glas stood with the thurible at the eastern arch of the circle. Brother Sullivan collected a small, ornate pitcher and stood to the western arch. When ready, Brother Falker would stand to the north, while the demon would be banished to the south.
From the instruments laid out on the kitchen counter, Falker collected a small, metal and wooden box. It was a near-perfect cube, with fine scripture etched onto each surface. He laid a sheet of yellow silk on the floor behind the southern edge of the circle and placed the box carefully atop it.
Finally, Brother Failker returned to his place in the northern position. By now the room was hazy with the strange smoke, the thurible rocking steadily to and fro from the chain in Brother Glas’ hands.
The Sacrament was ready to begin.
Although casualties were not uncommon, Brother Falker certainly felt more at peace with his vocation when the victims of these demonic entities survived their ordeal. At the end of the day, the Church’s priority was the banishment and containment of these transdimensional beings.
“Brother, are you ready?” one of the priests asked, knowing better than to use any proper names in the presence of the demonic creature.
Nodding, Falker instructed two of the youngest men to exit the apartment. They would remain outside the door, listening carefully for any indication that they should intervene with their support. That left three of them total -- Brothers Falker, Glas, and Sullivan. Although Sullivan was nearly 15 years Falkers senior, he had considerably less experience. Likewise, Glas was a mere three months younger than Falker and reasonably skilled but had seen only a few genuine possessions in his lifetime. Both men deferred to the Falker’s judgement.
As with most of the Churches rituals, an Exorscim came three parts. It began with the Sacrament, moved on to the Absolution, and then concluded with the Atonement.
The Sacrament represented the anointment of the sick. The host of the entity would need strength if they were to survive their ordeal. Unfortunately, the demonic entity would feed off of such strength. Therefore, it was vital to maintain a careful balance - to support the host, while depriving the interloper.
Brother Falker finally turned away from the demon. Brother Glas held a golden thurible, which Brother Sullivan dutifully lit. A heady odour filled the room, as the dry spice of the incense burner mixed with the sweet smoke from the ceremonial candles.
Brother Glas stood with the thurible at the eastern arch of the circle. Brother Sullivan collected a small, ornate pitcher and stood to the western arch. When ready, Brother Falker would stand to the north, while the demon would be banished to the south.
From the instruments laid out on the kitchen counter, Falker collected a small, metal and wooden box. It was a near-perfect cube, with fine scripture etched onto each surface. He laid a sheet of yellow silk on the floor behind the southern edge of the circle and placed the box carefully atop it.
Finally, Brother Failker returned to his place in the northern position. By now the room was hazy with the strange smoke, the thurible rocking steadily to and fro from the chain in Brother Glas’ hands.
The Sacrament was ready to begin.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The scent crept down the hosts mouth and nose, and made the demon cough as if the incense was pure smog. “Hold on!” he began. The particles invaded his lungs and stung his eyes, even if he squinted. The invisible walls still standing guard for any ways he could have of escaping. It wasn’t painful yet, but it felt like someone was choking him in thick smoke. Just like when a house was on fire, you would seek for the exit, and that was exactly what was happening now. He felt like they were trying to smoke him out.
Meanwhile, on the inside, Nathan seemed to urge the process on as soon as he felt the demon grow weaker. Shoving at him with his mind. Every time the body coughed, the demon felt like he was at risk at falling out the mouth like some demonic vomit, and had to keep holding on with all his strength. He knew for a fact that if he exited now, the priests would be quick to either kill him or trap him. Therefore he held onto Nathan with all of his might, practically trying to take over his mind to get all the strength possible. He could tell it was wearing on Nathan’s body though.
The more he was grabbing a hold, the more Nathan seemed to lose consciousness.
A drop of blood slid out from the body’s nose. “Are you going… to kill us both?” he asked in a voice husky from coughing, taking in large breaths, although it only flooded more of the nasty odour inside the body.
The demon seemed to have gained more control though, and with a heavy breath he lifted his gaze up to look at the priest before him. “…Unless I let go willingly, Nathan won’t make it, would you take that risk?”
He took in another heavy breath, and a hint of smirk showed on his face. “You will... kill him if you... tear me out. Personally, I have never killed anyone, so doesn’t that make you the bad guy?” He was gaining more breath as he spoke, as he started to get a better grip of his hosts mind.
Then Nathan seemed to make another attempt to gain control though, and the body coughed again.
Meanwhile, on the inside, Nathan seemed to urge the process on as soon as he felt the demon grow weaker. Shoving at him with his mind. Every time the body coughed, the demon felt like he was at risk at falling out the mouth like some demonic vomit, and had to keep holding on with all his strength. He knew for a fact that if he exited now, the priests would be quick to either kill him or trap him. Therefore he held onto Nathan with all of his might, practically trying to take over his mind to get all the strength possible. He could tell it was wearing on Nathan’s body though.
The more he was grabbing a hold, the more Nathan seemed to lose consciousness.
A drop of blood slid out from the body’s nose. “Are you going… to kill us both?” he asked in a voice husky from coughing, taking in large breaths, although it only flooded more of the nasty odour inside the body.
The demon seemed to have gained more control though, and with a heavy breath he lifted his gaze up to look at the priest before him. “…Unless I let go willingly, Nathan won’t make it, would you take that risk?”
He took in another heavy breath, and a hint of smirk showed on his face. “You will... kill him if you... tear me out. Personally, I have never killed anyone, so doesn’t that make you the bad guy?” He was gaining more breath as he spoke, as he started to get a better grip of his hosts mind.
Then Nathan seemed to make another attempt to gain control though, and the body coughed again.
sspky
ooof my bones
(( OOC: The Latin’s just nonsense snippets from ‘Exorcismus in Satanam et Angelos Apostaticos’, pulled from some bible site. God this, fear that, and so on. The last bit, said directly to the demon, means 'unclean spirit, infernal enemy'. Probably. Idk, I don’t speak Latin. Just winging thiiiis. 
))
While Brother Falker certainly knew the host was at great risk, he also knew never to trust anything that came out of a demon’s mouth. He hoped he had the strength to protect poor Nathan, but the Church dictated his priorities. If the entity escaped, it would only enter and harm another. The cycle would continue, and Brother Falker’s conscience would bare another dark stain.
“Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei.” Brother Falker spoke, his voice booming across the four corners of the tiny apartment.
From either side of him, his companions spoke, “Propter quod, tuo confisi praesidio, ex auctoritate nostri sacrum ministerium, et wardam filii Dei et Domini nostri…”
Their chant continued, their voices in husky unison as they recited the sacred chorus. Although Brother Falker’s verse was different, his voice seemed to blend together with their own as surely as the smoke from the candles had met the burning incense.
In one smooth, careful step, Brother Falker crossed over the chalk line on the floor and into the unbroken circle. At once, he was in danger, but he knew this and had come prepared. The holy symbols carved into the skin of his chest itched as he felt the presence of the demonic entity so near to him.
“...immúnde spíritus, infernális adversárii...” he spoke to the demon while pressing the three fingers on his right hand against Nathans burning forehead.
))While Brother Falker certainly knew the host was at great risk, he also knew never to trust anything that came out of a demon’s mouth. He hoped he had the strength to protect poor Nathan, but the Church dictated his priorities. If the entity escaped, it would only enter and harm another. The cycle would continue, and Brother Falker’s conscience would bare another dark stain.
“Sicut déficit fumus defíciant; sicut fluit cera a fácie ígnis, sic péreant peccatóres a fácie Dei.” Brother Falker spoke, his voice booming across the four corners of the tiny apartment.
From either side of him, his companions spoke, “Propter quod, tuo confisi praesidio, ex auctoritate nostri sacrum ministerium, et wardam filii Dei et Domini nostri…”
Their chant continued, their voices in husky unison as they recited the sacred chorus. Although Brother Falker’s verse was different, his voice seemed to blend together with their own as surely as the smoke from the candles had met the burning incense.
In one smooth, careful step, Brother Falker crossed over the chalk line on the floor and into the unbroken circle. At once, he was in danger, but he knew this and had come prepared. The holy symbols carved into the skin of his chest itched as he felt the presence of the demonic entity so near to him.
“...immúnde spíritus, infernális adversárii...” he spoke to the demon while pressing the three fingers on his right hand against Nathans burning forehead.
CadetBlue
The road so far
(Got it! (: )
Gone was the smirk, and replaced by an almost pitifully agonised face, as the chants starts making his body stir from his very core. The sudden pain had an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at his stomach like boiling water. There was nausea too, and again he felt like he would spill over his hosts lips. The demon prized himself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just wasn't possible right now. It owned him, dominated every thought. He clenched his teeth though, as if still refusing to scream and admit that their latin chants were tearing into him like knives. Yet the whole body was shaking, and he could feel Nathan even starting to squirm deep inside.
He honestly had not wanted Nathan to die. Just like you didn’t bite the hand that fed you. He had been a good host, that had been easy to control, weak-minded. Yet now there seemed no way around his death. The demon couldn’t very well let go right now and just give up to the mercy of the priests, that would be suicidal.
Just when he thought Nathan would die, and the demon would be without a living host… something amazing and unbelievable happened.
While the pain had been increasing in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end, the leader of the priests stepped into the circle. His presence entering the small space that the demon was confined too. Although the pain was excruciating, the demon slowly lifted its head and looked up at him through Nathan Crayford’s eyes. Gaze locked on the man when he touched his forehead, and watched those stern eyes that he would be dying to sit behind. He sucked in a raspy breath, and then without warning. He just let go.
Instead of being forced out slowly by the end of the exorcism, the demon released all control instantly, making the process happen terrifyingly fast.
The entity spilled out from the hosts lips, and in a cloud of smoke he manifested in a form right in front of the priest. So close they almost touched. The demon didn’t exactly look stereotypical, quite the contrary. His features were soft, with bright blue eyes and icy white hair. Yet his skin color was coming off grey, and where his eyes should be white, it was bloodshot red from strain. Dark matter swirled all around them like smoke spilling across the floor, and the scent of sulfur mixed with the incense.
He was only manifested for a split-second, before the demon was consumed by the smoke and aimed directly for the priests mouth. Aiming to transition directly into a brand new host.
Gone was the smirk, and replaced by an almost pitifully agonised face, as the chants starts making his body stir from his very core. The sudden pain had an unpleasant warmth to it, eating at his stomach like boiling water. There was nausea too, and again he felt like he would spill over his hosts lips. The demon prized himself in ignoring pain and just rocking on regardless, but that just wasn't possible right now. It owned him, dominated every thought. He clenched his teeth though, as if still refusing to scream and admit that their latin chants were tearing into him like knives. Yet the whole body was shaking, and he could feel Nathan even starting to squirm deep inside.
He honestly had not wanted Nathan to die. Just like you didn’t bite the hand that fed you. He had been a good host, that had been easy to control, weak-minded. Yet now there seemed no way around his death. The demon couldn’t very well let go right now and just give up to the mercy of the priests, that would be suicidal.
Just when he thought Nathan would die, and the demon would be without a living host… something amazing and unbelievable happened.
While the pain had been increasing in waves, small lulls giving false hope of an end, the leader of the priests stepped into the circle. His presence entering the small space that the demon was confined too. Although the pain was excruciating, the demon slowly lifted its head and looked up at him through Nathan Crayford’s eyes. Gaze locked on the man when he touched his forehead, and watched those stern eyes that he would be dying to sit behind. He sucked in a raspy breath, and then without warning. He just let go.
Instead of being forced out slowly by the end of the exorcism, the demon released all control instantly, making the process happen terrifyingly fast.
The entity spilled out from the hosts lips, and in a cloud of smoke he manifested in a form right in front of the priest. So close they almost touched. The demon didn’t exactly look stereotypical, quite the contrary. His features were soft, with bright blue eyes and icy white hair. Yet his skin color was coming off grey, and where his eyes should be white, it was bloodshot red from strain. Dark matter swirled all around them like smoke spilling across the floor, and the scent of sulfur mixed with the incense.
He was only manifested for a split-second, before the demon was consumed by the smoke and aimed directly for the priests mouth. Aiming to transition directly into a brand new host.
sspky
ooof my bones
With the demons retreat from the host's body, the second phase of the Exorcism had begun: Absolution, the purging of sin. Brother Falker had been surprised at the ease in which the demon chose to vacate Nathans’s body. Naturally, this sent just about every warning bell in Falkers heart a-ringing.
The marks beneath this smooth, black dress shirt began to throb the moment the demon materialized in front of him. To his left and right, the two Brothers chanting reached a crescendo.
Although the shape was only present for a moment, Brother Falker scrutinized the demons form as it stood before him. It wasn’t as gruesome as sone he’d seen. Some demons seemed to cloak themselves in horror, letting their loathing manifest in their very anatomy. Others chose to appeal to humanity more sexual urges. Others still, appeared as animals, or as children, or as forgotten and ancient things that humanity had only glimpsed upon in their deepest dreams.
As the demon dematerialized, Brother Falker moved his right hand away from Nathan's forehead. Maintaining the same three-fingered gesture, he moved his hand to his own mouth, his palm outwards. There was a small, black symbol tattoed there.
With his other hand, he rose a small, silver medallion in the triangular shape of his orders holiest symbol, and commanded, “Halt demon. Your presence is unwelcome here.”
He didn’t appear afraid of the demon. His face was stony-stern, his shoulders squared, and his gaze fierce. Beneath it all, his head was roaring in his own ears, sweat pooling down his back and soaking into his shirt. This was certainly the most dangerous stage of the Exorcism -- the battle of wills, as he bet his own inner strength and the conviction of his face, against the demonic entities own desire to claim a new host.
The marks beneath this smooth, black dress shirt began to throb the moment the demon materialized in front of him. To his left and right, the two Brothers chanting reached a crescendo.
Although the shape was only present for a moment, Brother Falker scrutinized the demons form as it stood before him. It wasn’t as gruesome as sone he’d seen. Some demons seemed to cloak themselves in horror, letting their loathing manifest in their very anatomy. Others chose to appeal to humanity more sexual urges. Others still, appeared as animals, or as children, or as forgotten and ancient things that humanity had only glimpsed upon in their deepest dreams.
As the demon dematerialized, Brother Falker moved his right hand away from Nathan's forehead. Maintaining the same three-fingered gesture, he moved his hand to his own mouth, his palm outwards. There was a small, black symbol tattoed there.
With his other hand, he rose a small, silver medallion in the triangular shape of his orders holiest symbol, and commanded, “Halt demon. Your presence is unwelcome here.”
He didn’t appear afraid of the demon. His face was stony-stern, his shoulders squared, and his gaze fierce. Beneath it all, his head was roaring in his own ears, sweat pooling down his back and soaking into his shirt. This was certainly the most dangerous stage of the Exorcism -- the battle of wills, as he bet his own inner strength and the conviction of his face, against the demonic entities own desire to claim a new host.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The priests body was like a door with a thousands locks and he was the burglar. The demon swirled around him, but several places on his body seemed to be surrounded in marks, symbols and repelling tricks. Stenches of holy oils and the surrounding odours were making him shiver and feel sick. Without a body he felt vulnerable, but that only made his search more insistent. Yet the medallion and the symbol combined were making him feel like a magnet trying to stick to another, but being repelled by its own like-pole.
He soared backwards, without being able to leave the circle and morphed from his aerial form back into humanoid again. His pale hair was tousled as if he had just been through a wind-tunnel, and his chest was rising up and down rapidly. He was draped in something just as uncommon as his appearance, since it was white sheets that looked nothing like they were coming from the underworld. He straightened up and looked over at the priest with his frosty eyes. Returning the stern look with one of determination, like a competitor who wanted to win some kind of game.
He could hear Nathan cough and scoff from his chair. His small eyes rolling around his head disoriented, but beside the nosebleed the demon knew he would be fine.
The demon looked between the two of them. Nathan was practically sitting with his mouth open, an open door to contrast the priests locked one. It only took him a split-second to start running toward him, giving the priest a very quick decision to make.
“Going to protect him or yourself, father?” he asked him, now in his own voice instead of speaking through Nathan’s vocal chords. The voice was unexpected and very different than Nathan’s. It was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than the weakened body would suggest.
It was a situation with only seconds to decide, and the demon would aim for whoever would be more prone to possession. Whether that was the priest, or his old body.
He soared backwards, without being able to leave the circle and morphed from his aerial form back into humanoid again. His pale hair was tousled as if he had just been through a wind-tunnel, and his chest was rising up and down rapidly. He was draped in something just as uncommon as his appearance, since it was white sheets that looked nothing like they were coming from the underworld. He straightened up and looked over at the priest with his frosty eyes. Returning the stern look with one of determination, like a competitor who wanted to win some kind of game.
He could hear Nathan cough and scoff from his chair. His small eyes rolling around his head disoriented, but beside the nosebleed the demon knew he would be fine.
The demon looked between the two of them. Nathan was practically sitting with his mouth open, an open door to contrast the priests locked one. It only took him a split-second to start running toward him, giving the priest a very quick decision to make.
“Going to protect him or yourself, father?” he asked him, now in his own voice instead of speaking through Nathan’s vocal chords. The voice was unexpected and very different than Nathan’s. It was low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness and with a hint of more power than the weakened body would suggest.
It was a situation with only seconds to decide, and the demon would aim for whoever would be more prone to possession. Whether that was the priest, or his old body.
sspky
ooof my bones
“Vile interloper,” Brother Falker hissed, his eyes drawn to the etherial shape that had once again materialized before him, “Submit to the Will of the Blessed Order.”
He realized the entity’s intention and outwardly cringed. Let Nathan be stronger now, for his life and his mortal soul both depended on it.
Brother Sullivan, whose voice was growing hoarse from the chanting, rose the ornate pitcher in one hand. He dipped the fingers of his other hand into the sleek, blessed oil and flicked it forward. The holy oil splattered over Nathan’s bound form. It smelt of spice and glistened in the candlelight.
Silently, Falker prayed it would be enough to complicate the demons reentry into Nathan’s body.
What happened next might of been some perverted inversion of deus ex machina. The H-train of Amebridges abysmal public transit system crossed over the intersection of Smithe and Burrowsly every 31 minutes. The tracks, elevated from street-level by a good 10 metres, passed parallel to Nathan’s shoddy apartment building.
The windows rattled dangerously as the train passed by on a wave of terrible vibration, the lights of each car streaking across the room at 55 km/h. The shock of it caused Brother Sullivan to stumble over his words, a candle at his foot tipping. It rolled into the circle, disturbing the thick chalk line.
The flame caught the drips of oil on the floor, igniting in a small burst of heat. It’s burnt down quickly, but the sight of it caught Brother Falkers eye, distracting him for one fateful moment.
He realized the entity’s intention and outwardly cringed. Let Nathan be stronger now, for his life and his mortal soul both depended on it.
Brother Sullivan, whose voice was growing hoarse from the chanting, rose the ornate pitcher in one hand. He dipped the fingers of his other hand into the sleek, blessed oil and flicked it forward. The holy oil splattered over Nathan’s bound form. It smelt of spice and glistened in the candlelight.
Silently, Falker prayed it would be enough to complicate the demons reentry into Nathan’s body.
What happened next might of been some perverted inversion of deus ex machina. The H-train of Amebridges abysmal public transit system crossed over the intersection of Smithe and Burrowsly every 31 minutes. The tracks, elevated from street-level by a good 10 metres, passed parallel to Nathan’s shoddy apartment building.
The windows rattled dangerously as the train passed by on a wave of terrible vibration, the lights of each car streaking across the room at 55 km/h. The shock of it caused Brother Sullivan to stumble over his words, a candle at his foot tipping. It rolled into the circle, disturbing the thick chalk line.
The flame caught the drips of oil on the floor, igniting in a small burst of heat. It’s burnt down quickly, but the sight of it caught Brother Falkers eye, distracting him for one fateful moment.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The stench of oil made the demon wince back, to not get any of the acidic liquid on him. He bend down in his knees, and made a face from the scent of spice, emitting all around Nathan’s body. The surrounding air was terrible enough, but now the oil was hanging onto him like horrible perfume. Inwardly he felt like cursing, because he might have wasted a chance to get any kind of cover again.
Then things happened very quickly.
The demon almost thought he had lost, when a train suddenly burst past the window. His little prison was suddenly broken down by the sound of a clumsy item clattering to the ground. The invisible walls disappearing like handcuffs falling off his wrists. The demon suddenly felt less confined and if he wanted to he could make a leap for any of the other priests, even the window if he wanted to play it safe. Then lastly was the burst of fire, that made the priest flinch.
Doing these events, the demon had been initially taken aback by the domino effect, but as soon as he saw an opening his instincts flared awake. His eyes singled in on the priest, like a hawk discovering a mouse in the grass, and he leap toward him in that moment. His body transformed into something lighter than smoke, but darker than night, that soared toward the other man in aggressive bursts. Then it swept into his mouth, his nose and his eyes. Blinding. Possessing.
‘Got you!’
He was clouding his mind, while he begun taking over his body, limb by limb. The initial possession was always a bit tedious; he needed to wrestle a little with the original owner of the mind, before slowly taking over their muscle memory. It was easier when you made deals, rather than when you had to forcefully take over someone. After that he would aim for their senses. Smell was easy, and touch came with the muscle memory must of the time. Taste often made the owner nauseous, but then it was easily won as well. The second hardest was hearing, it was painful for the both of them to hear that wretched ringing that felt like it pierced through their skull. When that was won though, he would get to the last; sight. Until now, the whole process had been in darkness, but when the eyes cleared up, the host would officially be his newest meat-suit.
It would all feel like it took ages, but could be done in less than a minute.
Then things happened very quickly.
The demon almost thought he had lost, when a train suddenly burst past the window. His little prison was suddenly broken down by the sound of a clumsy item clattering to the ground. The invisible walls disappearing like handcuffs falling off his wrists. The demon suddenly felt less confined and if he wanted to he could make a leap for any of the other priests, even the window if he wanted to play it safe. Then lastly was the burst of fire, that made the priest flinch.
Doing these events, the demon had been initially taken aback by the domino effect, but as soon as he saw an opening his instincts flared awake. His eyes singled in on the priest, like a hawk discovering a mouse in the grass, and he leap toward him in that moment. His body transformed into something lighter than smoke, but darker than night, that soared toward the other man in aggressive bursts. Then it swept into his mouth, his nose and his eyes. Blinding. Possessing.
‘Got you!’
He was clouding his mind, while he begun taking over his body, limb by limb. The initial possession was always a bit tedious; he needed to wrestle a little with the original owner of the mind, before slowly taking over their muscle memory. It was easier when you made deals, rather than when you had to forcefully take over someone. After that he would aim for their senses. Smell was easy, and touch came with the muscle memory must of the time. Taste often made the owner nauseous, but then it was easily won as well. The second hardest was hearing, it was painful for the both of them to hear that wretched ringing that felt like it pierced through their skull. When that was won though, he would get to the last; sight. Until now, the whole process had been in darkness, but when the eyes cleared up, the host would officially be his newest meat-suit.
It would all feel like it took ages, but could be done in less than a minute.
sspky
ooof my bones
Brother Falker fell to his knees, his marks on his skin burning cosmic sigils through his flesh and soul alike. The symbols had been applied with ritualistic care and were designed to keep unwanted entities out. Now that his body was being tainted by this demonic presence, the holy formulas would work to incinerate host and entity alike.
He dug his blunted fingernails into the flesh of his chest, his sweat-soaked dress-shirt the only thing keeping him from tearing open the markings on his skin. Brother Sullivan was on him in a moment, shoving him roughly until he tumbled to the floor, his shoulders knocking painfully against the scratched wood beneath him.
Brother Glas screamed for the guards at the door, demanding they summon the Order immediately.
“Immúnde spíritus, infernális adversárii,” Brother Falker choaked, his brow soaked in sweat. His physical voice was hoarse but his mind boomed with outrage: ‘Leave me, demon. I expel you, filth, from my presence.’
He could feel the righteous burning of the holy symbol Brother Glas had pressed against his forehead. Brother Sullivan poured the blessed oil down his throat, and it sent spasms of exquisite agony through to the core of him. The priests who were standing guard must have entered the room because Brother Falker could feel powerful hands pinning his wrists to the floor.
More candles had toppled, igniting the oil-splattered floor. The priests were too distracted to notice, and Brother Falker’s mind had turned full inward. The sacred chanting blasted on repeat inside his aching skull as he fought the evil that had entered him.
He dug his blunted fingernails into the flesh of his chest, his sweat-soaked dress-shirt the only thing keeping him from tearing open the markings on his skin. Brother Sullivan was on him in a moment, shoving him roughly until he tumbled to the floor, his shoulders knocking painfully against the scratched wood beneath him.
Brother Glas screamed for the guards at the door, demanding they summon the Order immediately.
“Immúnde spíritus, infernális adversárii,” Brother Falker choaked, his brow soaked in sweat. His physical voice was hoarse but his mind boomed with outrage: ‘Leave me, demon. I expel you, filth, from my presence.’
He could feel the righteous burning of the holy symbol Brother Glas had pressed against his forehead. Brother Sullivan poured the blessed oil down his throat, and it sent spasms of exquisite agony through to the core of him. The priests who were standing guard must have entered the room because Brother Falker could feel powerful hands pinning his wrists to the floor.
More candles had toppled, igniting the oil-splattered floor. The priests were too distracted to notice, and Brother Falker’s mind had turned full inward. The sacred chanting blasted on repeat inside his aching skull as he fought the evil that had entered him.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The demon let out a scream in surprise when actual oil was poured into the host body. Couldn’t feel great for the priest either. He had tried holy water before, but the oil was like an oxymoron of cold hellfire that made him squirm. He lost control of the priests senses for a moment, before he made another attempt to grasp on.
The body had several symbols that was making it difficult to properly latch on, even to the most simple senses. He didnt know if he could handle another exorcism today. Think. He needed the priests to think he was out of the body somehow, and hide inside the priests mind until it was safe to come forth. If he just dove really deep into his subconscious and nested there for a while, maybe he could regain his strength.
‘This is too painful priest, you win’ he echoed in their shared mind.
Then he triggered their gag-reflex and hopefully could make the priest busy with nausea, while he slid into the far back of his mind where it would feel like he didn’t exist at all. He had properly seen many exorcisms, but he was counting on him not having ‘felt’ one. He spices the gags up with some of his smoke-like essence, just so it seemed more belivable that he had actually left the body.
Now he could only wait to see if the priest bought it.
The body had several symbols that was making it difficult to properly latch on, even to the most simple senses. He didnt know if he could handle another exorcism today. Think. He needed the priests to think he was out of the body somehow, and hide inside the priests mind until it was safe to come forth. If he just dove really deep into his subconscious and nested there for a while, maybe he could regain his strength.
‘This is too painful priest, you win’ he echoed in their shared mind.
Then he triggered their gag-reflex and hopefully could make the priest busy with nausea, while he slid into the far back of his mind where it would feel like he didn’t exist at all. He had properly seen many exorcisms, but he was counting on him not having ‘felt’ one. He spices the gags up with some of his smoke-like essence, just so it seemed more belivable that he had actually left the body.
Now he could only wait to see if the priest bought it.
sspky
ooof my bones
Soon his mind-voice was cracking, too. He was drowning in the chaos of it all - in the thrashing presence in his skull, in the oil that filled his throat and clogged his lungs, in the agony of the sigils on his skin - he was being pulled deeper and deeper into himself.
‘Leave me...leave--’ his mind jittered
When the demon spoke, he clung to it, confused and disbelieving, until a sudden spasm overtook him.
Brother Falker vomited violently, choaking and coughing and gagging up smoke and oil alike. And then he grew heavy and still, his consciousness flickering out like a candle’s flame.
“It’s done.” Brother Glas said, and the room breathed a sigh of relief. While one of the priests snuffed the scattered flames with a blanket, the other untied Nathan from the metal chair. A cleanup crew would arrive soon, and Nathan would be taken to the nearby St. Alexis Hospital for observation.
As for Brother Falker, he was bundled up and carried out of the building to a waiting car. Although the demon had left the priest, it had not been contained. The Inquisitors would become involved, and all present would be reprimanded severely.
In the meantime, Brother Sullivan ordered they drive back to the rectory, where Brother Falker’s physical and spiritual needs could be properly tended to.
Throughout all this, Brother Falker sunk deeper into the fog of his own mindscape, until he found himself sitting on a pew in the dream-memory of the Seminary of the Lord Shepherd, where he had spent much of his youth. The school chapel was an old brick and wood thing. He remembered it had smelt of rosemary and maple. Now, in this dream-place, he could smell nothing but holy oil and his own bile.
He was distantly aware that none of this was real, but as with any lucid dream, he let himself be pulled along its ebb and flow. He wasn’t sure what he was expected to feel after a near-possession. Relief? Purity, perhaps.
He felt tainted. He felt coated in a sort of filth that he would never be clean from. He wanted to scream, but it felt wrong to break the silence of this dream-space.
‘Leave me...leave--’ his mind jittered
When the demon spoke, he clung to it, confused and disbelieving, until a sudden spasm overtook him.
Brother Falker vomited violently, choaking and coughing and gagging up smoke and oil alike. And then he grew heavy and still, his consciousness flickering out like a candle’s flame.
“It’s done.” Brother Glas said, and the room breathed a sigh of relief. While one of the priests snuffed the scattered flames with a blanket, the other untied Nathan from the metal chair. A cleanup crew would arrive soon, and Nathan would be taken to the nearby St. Alexis Hospital for observation.
As for Brother Falker, he was bundled up and carried out of the building to a waiting car. Although the demon had left the priest, it had not been contained. The Inquisitors would become involved, and all present would be reprimanded severely.
In the meantime, Brother Sullivan ordered they drive back to the rectory, where Brother Falker’s physical and spiritual needs could be properly tended to.
Throughout all this, Brother Falker sunk deeper into the fog of his own mindscape, until he found himself sitting on a pew in the dream-memory of the Seminary of the Lord Shepherd, where he had spent much of his youth. The school chapel was an old brick and wood thing. He remembered it had smelt of rosemary and maple. Now, in this dream-place, he could smell nothing but holy oil and his own bile.
He was distantly aware that none of this was real, but as with any lucid dream, he let himself be pulled along its ebb and flow. He wasn’t sure what he was expected to feel after a near-possession. Relief? Purity, perhaps.
He felt tainted. He felt coated in a sort of filth that he would never be clean from. He wanted to scream, but it felt wrong to break the silence of this dream-space.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The torture finally ended.
The pain settled into a sharp throbbing and the demon gradually felt like he wasn’t scorched in flames any longer, and it was a relief that made him want to melt into a warm bed. He did not try to take over the priest's body again, that would be idiotic when he was this weak. Instead he breathed a sigh of relief when his bluff seemed to have worked out. Now he just had to keep a low profile for a while, just until he could gather his strength. He disregarded anything that happened to the priests senses, guessing they were just bringing him to rest anyway.
Instead he snuck a look at what was happening in his mind.
The priest was nearly fully passed out, so his memory was quite easy to peek into. When it came to fleeting thoughts the demon could rarely read them clearly, they were like pages of books just swiped past his face too fast to properly read, which is why he disliked spontaneous people, but deep emotions and dreams he saw as clearly as his hosts.
The demon appeared in his world, but out of sight, in a more blurry part of the setting. He was wearing his own skin, pale hair and blue eyes at the moment. Yet the dream had altered clothes to look like the uniform they used here at the school. School?
He glanced up at the brick building. It looked more like a chapel to him, but more information was flooding his mind. It was a Seminary. Seminary of the Lord Shepherd. He saw fleeting images of peers, friends and teachers. Some faces were clear, some fuzzy, and some just shadows. One Professor in particular seemed to have been his host’s favourite for some reason, because his image was clear as day.
The demon couldn’t help it. He was curious.
His body morphed its appearance into that of the middle-aged professor at the chapel. He had thick brown hair that had somehow managed to stay free of grey despite the age, but then again he could only see how the priest was remembering this person. He had intelligent and kind eyes, but with lines that showed a lifetime of worry and hardships. What was his name…. he couldn’t quite tell. He hadn’t managed to gain his host’s name either
When he was sure his clothes and appearance was alike the memory, he took the chance and stepped into view in the priest's lucid dream. Just to see how he would initially react. He put on a professional, but kind smile, just as he had seen it in the memories.
The pain settled into a sharp throbbing and the demon gradually felt like he wasn’t scorched in flames any longer, and it was a relief that made him want to melt into a warm bed. He did not try to take over the priest's body again, that would be idiotic when he was this weak. Instead he breathed a sigh of relief when his bluff seemed to have worked out. Now he just had to keep a low profile for a while, just until he could gather his strength. He disregarded anything that happened to the priests senses, guessing they were just bringing him to rest anyway.
Instead he snuck a look at what was happening in his mind.
The priest was nearly fully passed out, so his memory was quite easy to peek into. When it came to fleeting thoughts the demon could rarely read them clearly, they were like pages of books just swiped past his face too fast to properly read, which is why he disliked spontaneous people, but deep emotions and dreams he saw as clearly as his hosts.
The demon appeared in his world, but out of sight, in a more blurry part of the setting. He was wearing his own skin, pale hair and blue eyes at the moment. Yet the dream had altered clothes to look like the uniform they used here at the school. School?
He glanced up at the brick building. It looked more like a chapel to him, but more information was flooding his mind. It was a Seminary. Seminary of the Lord Shepherd. He saw fleeting images of peers, friends and teachers. Some faces were clear, some fuzzy, and some just shadows. One Professor in particular seemed to have been his host’s favourite for some reason, because his image was clear as day.
The demon couldn’t help it. He was curious.
His body morphed its appearance into that of the middle-aged professor at the chapel. He had thick brown hair that had somehow managed to stay free of grey despite the age, but then again he could only see how the priest was remembering this person. He had intelligent and kind eyes, but with lines that showed a lifetime of worry and hardships. What was his name…. he couldn’t quite tell. He hadn’t managed to gain his host’s name either
When he was sure his clothes and appearance was alike the memory, he took the chance and stepped into view in the priest's lucid dream. Just to see how he would initially react. He put on a professional, but kind smile, just as he had seen it in the memories.
sspky
ooof my bones
Noel -- it was only Noel here, Noel Eustice Falker, he wouldn’t be a priest for another 8 years, at least -- moved his tongue about his mouth, feeling the contour of his teeth. The taste was nearly unbearable. It brought memories of old punishments administered for blasphemy and tardiness and disobedience and any number of crimes he had committed in his soiled youth.
He wondered, numbly, what he was currently being punished for.
When Father Coleman appeared, Noel was filled with a sense of familiar warmth. He’d always cared deeply for the older man. Samual Coleman had been a stern, but fair man, and had played a vital role in shaping Noel into the man he would become.
“Father Coleman,” he said, dipping his head. He thought he should rise, but his legs felt oddly heavy.
Noel saw himself in his mind’s eye as he was: a priest in black, middle-aged and world-weary, but if Father Coleman was here with him at the Seminary, then Noel would have been in his very early 20s. He certainly felt like a child, his head bowed in shame as he sat upon a too-large pew.
“I’m afraid I’m rather late, Father. I’m sorry.”
He wondered, numbly, what he was currently being punished for.
When Father Coleman appeared, Noel was filled with a sense of familiar warmth. He’d always cared deeply for the older man. Samual Coleman had been a stern, but fair man, and had played a vital role in shaping Noel into the man he would become.
“Father Coleman,” he said, dipping his head. He thought he should rise, but his legs felt oddly heavy.
Noel saw himself in his mind’s eye as he was: a priest in black, middle-aged and world-weary, but if Father Coleman was here with him at the Seminary, then Noel would have been in his very early 20s. He certainly felt like a child, his head bowed in shame as he sat upon a too-large pew.
“I’m afraid I’m rather late, Father. I’m sorry.”
CadetBlue
The road so far
Pieces were falling into place, and Father Coleman approached him, putting his hands behind his back professionally. “Noel,” he greeted him, just by the simple word it was evident that he was a baritone in church. He had a low rumble to the words, that resembled that of a good storyteller, who could make people listen.
Noel Eustice Falker. The name registered in his whole being, and felt like the final key to a door.
When Noel commented that he was late, the man gave a single slow nod. “You are,” the professor agreed with a lifted brow and looked around the place, as if to emphasise the large space, void of any other presence. “…You missed all the people who were here for evening assembly,” he added, and then walked closer. He took a seat next to the other man on the pew, as if he had all the time in the world. Then Father Coleman looked over at him; there was a bit of strictness in his gaze, like a teacher who genuinely wanted an explanation, yet willing to listening with an open mind.
“Is something weighing on you, Noel?” he asked him, and rested his hands on his own legs. “…sometimes, speaking your prayers out loud, helps you properly understand them better.”
He wanted to know everything...
Noel Eustice Falker. The name registered in his whole being, and felt like the final key to a door.
When Noel commented that he was late, the man gave a single slow nod. “You are,” the professor agreed with a lifted brow and looked around the place, as if to emphasise the large space, void of any other presence. “…You missed all the people who were here for evening assembly,” he added, and then walked closer. He took a seat next to the other man on the pew, as if he had all the time in the world. Then Father Coleman looked over at him; there was a bit of strictness in his gaze, like a teacher who genuinely wanted an explanation, yet willing to listening with an open mind.
“Is something weighing on you, Noel?” he asked him, and rested his hands on his own legs. “…sometimes, speaking your prayers out loud, helps you properly understand them better.”
He wanted to know everything...
sspky
ooof my bones
There had been a kindness to Father Coleman. Not the weak sort of kindness that one took advantage of, however. Noel had always known never to cross him. Never to disappointed him.
He felt a tinge of guilt at having missed service but knew that wasn’t the reason he felt so lost. He felt stretched thin and threadbare, as if the shadow of something terrible had begun pulling at his seams.
It was clear that something was weighing heavily on the man, yet this place seemed to ease him into a fragile sense of peace. In the safety of the old chapel, he pulled at the strings of his memory, until the likeness of Nathan Crayford, bound and terrified, materialized. The memory sickened him. He ran a shaky hand down his face, his cheeks feeling sunken beneath his fingers, and exhaled slowly.
“I was supposed to save a man today, Father.” he said, “I’m unsure if I succeed.”
He felt a tinge of guilt at having missed service but knew that wasn’t the reason he felt so lost. He felt stretched thin and threadbare, as if the shadow of something terrible had begun pulling at his seams.
It was clear that something was weighing heavily on the man, yet this place seemed to ease him into a fragile sense of peace. In the safety of the old chapel, he pulled at the strings of his memory, until the likeness of Nathan Crayford, bound and terrified, materialized. The memory sickened him. He ran a shaky hand down his face, his cheeks feeling sunken beneath his fingers, and exhaled slowly.
“I was supposed to save a man today, Father.” he said, “I’m unsure if I succeed.”
CadetBlue
The road so far
The image flashed before his eyes as well, like the flicker of images from a nightmare, although it was simply a memory. Personally he knew that Nathan had not been near death when he had left his body back by in the room, so he was pretty sure he would recover; if those priest got him medical attention quickly. Nathan was weak-minded, but his body was sturdy enough, and the demon had exited early enough to not cause irreversible harm.
He hummed out a single tone thoughtfully, and it sounded like the rumble of steady thunder in the back of his throat. “That does sound like a heavy burden to bear,” he admitted from the lips of the older man. He took in a breath. “Probably one of the reasons I decided to be a teacher later into my years,” he said, with a slight lift of his lips, before his expression returned to seriousness.
“...But, what you do is admirable, and you may have actually saved a person life. You should be proud of yourself and the level you have reached,” he pointed out, and lifted his hands to gesture outwards. “…but the job comes with many prices…” he nodded to himself.
“How have you been doing lately?” he asked him.
He wanted to figure out more.
He hummed out a single tone thoughtfully, and it sounded like the rumble of steady thunder in the back of his throat. “That does sound like a heavy burden to bear,” he admitted from the lips of the older man. He took in a breath. “Probably one of the reasons I decided to be a teacher later into my years,” he said, with a slight lift of his lips, before his expression returned to seriousness.
“...But, what you do is admirable, and you may have actually saved a person life. You should be proud of yourself and the level you have reached,” he pointed out, and lifted his hands to gesture outwards. “…but the job comes with many prices…” he nodded to himself.
“How have you been doing lately?” he asked him.
He wanted to figure out more.
sspky
ooof my bones
Finding peace in these words, Noel seemed to relax a little. Some of the tension left his shoulders, and his back slumped forward. He rested his head in his hands a moment and considered the Father Colemans’ final question.
How did he feel? Lonely, jaded, tired. No, exhausted. He felt it bone-deep, in a way that made his heart feel heavy in his chest. Some of that could certainly be attributed to today’s ordeal, but he would be lying to himself if he pretended that his mood had not been darkening for months.
“I’m fine, Father Coleman,” he replied, “I’ve been doing fine,”
The loneliness that stretched through him seemed manifest in this small chapel. It was grave-quiet and, apart from Noel and this spectre of his past, desolate of life.
Straightening, Noel corrected his posture and turned to look at the man sitting next to him. He had to admit it; he looked good. Healthy and strong. Nothing like the man Noel knew towards the end, aged by time and wasted thin by the cancer that would eventually destroy him. Noel preferred this dream-version. The funeral had been an open-coffined one, and had Noel not visited the man near the end, he wouldn’t have possibly recognized him in the face of the mentor who sat beside him now.
He chased the memory away, refusing to give it purchase.
How did he feel? Lonely, jaded, tired. No, exhausted. He felt it bone-deep, in a way that made his heart feel heavy in his chest. Some of that could certainly be attributed to today’s ordeal, but he would be lying to himself if he pretended that his mood had not been darkening for months.
“I’m fine, Father Coleman,” he replied, “I’ve been doing fine,”
The loneliness that stretched through him seemed manifest in this small chapel. It was grave-quiet and, apart from Noel and this spectre of his past, desolate of life.
Straightening, Noel corrected his posture and turned to look at the man sitting next to him. He had to admit it; he looked good. Healthy and strong. Nothing like the man Noel knew towards the end, aged by time and wasted thin by the cancer that would eventually destroy him. Noel preferred this dream-version. The funeral had been an open-coffined one, and had Noel not visited the man near the end, he wouldn’t have possibly recognized him in the face of the mentor who sat beside him now.
He chased the memory away, refusing to give it purchase.
CadetBlue
The road so far
Even in his own mind Noel Falker seemed to be a man with his feelings on lock, and not one to spill them easily. One simple emotion was resonating around the room though, so clear that it didn’t need to be spoken for the demon to understand. Loneliness. The priest seemed to not be as keen about his ‘lone wolf’ existence as he appeared. The demon noted it to himself.
The older man let a moment of silence linger between them, and the whole dream room turned deadly quiet. “You never were a good liar,” the man told him, and then lifted his hand and put it on the others shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze, before letting it rest there. There was no judgment in the word, just stating the obvious.
“It’s okay to complain once in a while, Noel. Even for a priest,” the man told him. “…I would rather you complain, than skip mass,” he added to lighten the mood, and then retracted his hand to his side, before he let out a breath.
“But I can’t force you to talk to me,” he stated, and send him a smile, before he returned to the lingering silence and waited patiently for Noel to be the one to break it. Either that, or be thinking hard enough for him to interpret some more information.
The older man let a moment of silence linger between them, and the whole dream room turned deadly quiet. “You never were a good liar,” the man told him, and then lifted his hand and put it on the others shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze, before letting it rest there. There was no judgment in the word, just stating the obvious.
“It’s okay to complain once in a while, Noel. Even for a priest,” the man told him. “…I would rather you complain, than skip mass,” he added to lighten the mood, and then retracted his hand to his side, before he let out a breath.
“But I can’t force you to talk to me,” he stated, and send him a smile, before he returned to the lingering silence and waited patiently for Noel to be the one to break it. Either that, or be thinking hard enough for him to interpret some more information.
sspky
ooof my bones
Peaceful human touch, no matter how casual, was such a rare commodity for Noel these days, that he found himself leaning into the warmth of the hand on his shoulder. He felt steadier and drew in a slow, deep breath.
The taste of bile was as strong as ever in his mouth, and with it, he felt that sense of creeping darkness returning. He felt as if a hand were at his throat, closing slowly enough to escape his immediate notice, but growing ever tighter all the same.
He’d felt a sudden jolt of anger and the accusation that he’d been lying, but he smothered it down shamefully.
“I’m not sure what to say, Father.” he admitted, “I know I need to be stronger than this. I should seek confession. I should…”
He stopped suddenly, his brow furrowing as the dream around them changed. He was suddenly very warm, and very wet. It was raining now, and when he turned his upwards he noticed the ceiling of the church had disappeared. He saw only darkness above and puzzled at it.
It had been raining at Father Coleman’s funeral, he thought, but then it was always raining in Amebridge.
Outside of his mindscape, he’d been carried, limp and useless, into the rectories communal washrooms, where three priests had stripped him and laid him in a deep bath. Diligently, they scrubbed vomit, sweat, and oil from his ashen skin.
His mind lurched forward, his awareness of the physical world tumbling over him. Some of the colour had returned to his skin as his eyes fluttered briefly.
“Calmly now, Brother.” he heard a distant voice say, “You need to rest.”
The priests finished quickly, and when they lifted him from the tub, a dizzy spell overtook him and he plunged back into the dream-space. While the priests towelled him dry, dressed him in threadbare bedclothes, and carried him to his personal quarters, Brother Falker fell through the shapeless void of his subconscious.
He passed memories of his childhood - of the discipline and reprimand of the nuns at that ancient brick schoolhouse he’d spent much of formative years - and figments of his own creation. The dream passed in an incoherent haze. He saw his mother and father, common labourers, forfeiting their only son to the clergy when he was only 9. He’d lit a fire in an abandoned lot. It had caught the dry grass and damaged a neighbouring barbershop. He saw that young woman -- Sarah, his memory supplied -- from the girl’s school. He’d thought of her a lot, sinfully, when he was a young and listless teenager. He saw Nathan Crayford, and in his minds-eye, the man was cold and dead on a mortician’s slab.
He saw something dark in his periphery. Dark yet, not. It was blue and white and ethereal, and it moved like silk in still water. Yet, it was darkness, and he feared it.
Reality pulled him forward suddenly as his guts lurched into his throat. The need to vomit came suddenly, and he rolled to his side, nearly collapsing off the narrow bed, and dry heaved thick mucus and the remnants of oil onto the cold cement floor of his dorm room.
The taste of bile was as strong as ever in his mouth, and with it, he felt that sense of creeping darkness returning. He felt as if a hand were at his throat, closing slowly enough to escape his immediate notice, but growing ever tighter all the same.
He’d felt a sudden jolt of anger and the accusation that he’d been lying, but he smothered it down shamefully.
“I’m not sure what to say, Father.” he admitted, “I know I need to be stronger than this. I should seek confession. I should…”
He stopped suddenly, his brow furrowing as the dream around them changed. He was suddenly very warm, and very wet. It was raining now, and when he turned his upwards he noticed the ceiling of the church had disappeared. He saw only darkness above and puzzled at it.
It had been raining at Father Coleman’s funeral, he thought, but then it was always raining in Amebridge.
Outside of his mindscape, he’d been carried, limp and useless, into the rectories communal washrooms, where three priests had stripped him and laid him in a deep bath. Diligently, they scrubbed vomit, sweat, and oil from his ashen skin.
His mind lurched forward, his awareness of the physical world tumbling over him. Some of the colour had returned to his skin as his eyes fluttered briefly.
“Calmly now, Brother.” he heard a distant voice say, “You need to rest.”
The priests finished quickly, and when they lifted him from the tub, a dizzy spell overtook him and he plunged back into the dream-space. While the priests towelled him dry, dressed him in threadbare bedclothes, and carried him to his personal quarters, Brother Falker fell through the shapeless void of his subconscious.
He passed memories of his childhood - of the discipline and reprimand of the nuns at that ancient brick schoolhouse he’d spent much of formative years - and figments of his own creation. The dream passed in an incoherent haze. He saw his mother and father, common labourers, forfeiting their only son to the clergy when he was only 9. He’d lit a fire in an abandoned lot. It had caught the dry grass and damaged a neighbouring barbershop. He saw that young woman -- Sarah, his memory supplied -- from the girl’s school. He’d thought of her a lot, sinfully, when he was a young and listless teenager. He saw Nathan Crayford, and in his minds-eye, the man was cold and dead on a mortician’s slab.
He saw something dark in his periphery. Dark yet, not. It was blue and white and ethereal, and it moved like silk in still water. Yet, it was darkness, and he feared it.
Reality pulled him forward suddenly as his guts lurched into his throat. The need to vomit came suddenly, and he rolled to his side, nearly collapsing off the narrow bed, and dry heaved thick mucus and the remnants of oil onto the cold cement floor of his dorm room.
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CadetBlue
The road so far
The felt like he stood in front of a huge screen, and memories were soaring past his blue eyes in quick flashes. But it was nothing like watching TV, because the demon truly felt like he was watching with Noel’s eyes, and with all his senses too. He felt a spark of betrayal when his parents left him, and the anger that caused him to lit a fire in an abandoned lot. He felt desire for an unknown woman, and the dread of Nathan Crayford’s dying body. If he had been materialised he might have shed a tear, but for now he just sucked in all the emotion, and used it to further grasp onto Noel.
As his nature beckoned, he latched onto every sin he spotted, and felt like he was gaining more and more foothold of this body. He was starting to understand where to start and which goals to aim for in this particular personality. He couldn’t have imagined the priest being such a perfect vessel. Grossly holy on the outside, and perfectly flawed on the inside.
When the images stopped flashing, he gathered himself a little in the back of his mind. Then curiously he peered out his eyes, only to discover that they were vomitting again. Nauseous hitting him as well, and the contracting of his stomach was beyond uncomfortable. He had had enough of those types of feeling for today. The demon remembered one scent that he had recalled in his dreamscape.
Rosemary and Maple. He made an artificial aroma spread in his mind, as if he truly smelt it, although it was only based on a memory. Naturally no actual Rosemary was in the room, he didn’t actually make physical differences, but messing with the mind could make you believe a lot. Even trick your body that you weren’t sick at all. Or stop the signals to the brain that felt pain.
As a demon, he was a bit of an odd one in one aspect (which had been his downfall with Nathan,) he didn’t entirely take over his bodies, at least not all the time. Maybe he just liked having someone to talk to.
He patiently waited for the man to feel a little better on the bed. Overruling the scent of bile with the herbs and sugar that Noel seemed to enjoy. The body was thirsty, and a bit hungry too. Two cravings that he listened to.
‘Water,’ he spoke in his mind. The voice distant like it was just his own involuntary suggestion.
He took over his muscles for a brief moment, and urged him to sit up, as if someone had grabbed his shoulder’s and were helping him get upright. Then he released control, and hoped he was getting the hint.
As his nature beckoned, he latched onto every sin he spotted, and felt like he was gaining more and more foothold of this body. He was starting to understand where to start and which goals to aim for in this particular personality. He couldn’t have imagined the priest being such a perfect vessel. Grossly holy on the outside, and perfectly flawed on the inside.
When the images stopped flashing, he gathered himself a little in the back of his mind. Then curiously he peered out his eyes, only to discover that they were vomitting again. Nauseous hitting him as well, and the contracting of his stomach was beyond uncomfortable. He had had enough of those types of feeling for today. The demon remembered one scent that he had recalled in his dreamscape.
Rosemary and Maple. He made an artificial aroma spread in his mind, as if he truly smelt it, although it was only based on a memory. Naturally no actual Rosemary was in the room, he didn’t actually make physical differences, but messing with the mind could make you believe a lot. Even trick your body that you weren’t sick at all. Or stop the signals to the brain that felt pain.
As a demon, he was a bit of an odd one in one aspect (which had been his downfall with Nathan,) he didn’t entirely take over his bodies, at least not all the time. Maybe he just liked having someone to talk to.
He patiently waited for the man to feel a little better on the bed. Overruling the scent of bile with the herbs and sugar that Noel seemed to enjoy. The body was thirsty, and a bit hungry too. Two cravings that he listened to.
‘Water,’ he spoke in his mind. The voice distant like it was just his own involuntary suggestion.
He took over his muscles for a brief moment, and urged him to sit up, as if someone had grabbed his shoulder’s and were helping him get upright. Then he released control, and hoped he was getting the hint.
sspky
ooof my bones
The scent came to him in a pleasant wave, and for a moment he was content in the memory of that old chapel at the Seminary. For that reason, perhaps, when he sat up he felt the ghost of his old mentor’s hands on his shoulders, steadying him as he had all those years ago.
Brother Falker sat for a moment, his hands on his bony knees, and counted his breath. The old clock on the far wall read 6:40, but from the dim glow of gray light coming through the narrow window, he had trouble telling if it was in the AM or PM.
Drawing in another deep breath, Brother Falker let the memory of the scent linger for a moment, pleased that the lingering taste of vomit was maybe not so bad, after all. Finally, he stood on shaky legs and made his way to the small ensuite connected to his room. It contained a toilet, a simple shower, and a mirror above a steel sink.
Raising through the ranks as Exscorist had its humble perks, namely access to a private lavatory.
He poured himself a glass of water and drank too deeply, a sudden cramp and a wave of dizziness causing him to lean his weight heavily against the bathroom door. Once his head steadied again, he drank slowly, mindful of the twisting in his gut. Personally, he’d never tasted that oil before. He had imagined he would be bad, but not this bad.
For a moment he stared at his own reflection. His face was gaunt, aged 20 years since the night before. “A hot meal and a good night’s rest,” he told himself, “I’ll be right as rain.”
“And...Confession. I promised Confession.”
Yes. Surely prayer would help him as much as nourishment.
Placing the glass down, Brother Falker began his morning ritual with resolve. He flossed his teeth until his gums bled, and then brushed, spat, gargled, paused, and then took another capful of mouthwash just to be sure the taste had well and truly been chased away.
He washed his face, combed his now wild, unkempt hair, and then stood back to assess the damage. He seemed a little better. He certainly felt more like himself.
My eyes, he thought, my eyes seem grayer.
Brother Falker sat for a moment, his hands on his bony knees, and counted his breath. The old clock on the far wall read 6:40, but from the dim glow of gray light coming through the narrow window, he had trouble telling if it was in the AM or PM.
Drawing in another deep breath, Brother Falker let the memory of the scent linger for a moment, pleased that the lingering taste of vomit was maybe not so bad, after all. Finally, he stood on shaky legs and made his way to the small ensuite connected to his room. It contained a toilet, a simple shower, and a mirror above a steel sink.
Raising through the ranks as Exscorist had its humble perks, namely access to a private lavatory.
He poured himself a glass of water and drank too deeply, a sudden cramp and a wave of dizziness causing him to lean his weight heavily against the bathroom door. Once his head steadied again, he drank slowly, mindful of the twisting in his gut. Personally, he’d never tasted that oil before. He had imagined he would be bad, but not this bad.
For a moment he stared at his own reflection. His face was gaunt, aged 20 years since the night before. “A hot meal and a good night’s rest,” he told himself, “I’ll be right as rain.”
“And...Confession. I promised Confession.”
Yes. Surely prayer would help him as much as nourishment.
Placing the glass down, Brother Falker began his morning ritual with resolve. He flossed his teeth until his gums bled, and then brushed, spat, gargled, paused, and then took another capful of mouthwash just to be sure the taste had well and truly been chased away.
He washed his face, combed his now wild, unkempt hair, and then stood back to assess the damage. He seemed a little better. He certainly felt more like himself.
My eyes, he thought, my eyes seem grayer.
CadetBlue
The road so far
The demon sat still in the back of his mind, as he watched the other man clear out their mouth for that awful taste. He was working on diminishing the uncomfortable stirring in their gut, but it was still twisting from the sickness earlier.
“A hot meal and a good night’s rest,”
The Demon nodded to himself, approving that plan to the fullest.
“And...Confession. I promised Confession.”
hmm …. He suppose he could get some information out during a confession. Although he would hope they could eat first, because their body was starving.
Surely prayer would help him as much as nourishment
‘You got to be kidding me ‘
He accidentally made the thought spring out loud inside the priests mind, albeit vague. He quickly shut up afterwards though, and retracted into deep silence. When he looked out through his eyes, he watched the priest in the mirror stare right back at him through their shared gaze. He almost felt like they were actually looking at each other. The blue of his irises were mixed with Noel’s dark ones, and leaving them a shades between the two, while he was spectating. The demon realised his mistake, and quickly shut off his vision, so the priests eyes returned dark on his next blink.
‘You’re seeing things’ he planted the idea in his head. ‘Scared after the exorcism’
For now he was just hoping he could get him to eat first, because he doubted they would have breakfast if the man figured out that he was still possessed. So he started adding in images and reminders of food and breakfast to try to get his mind on another track.
“A hot meal and a good night’s rest,”
The Demon nodded to himself, approving that plan to the fullest.
“And...Confession. I promised Confession.”
hmm …. He suppose he could get some information out during a confession. Although he would hope they could eat first, because their body was starving.
Surely prayer would help him as much as nourishment
‘You got to be kidding me ‘
He accidentally made the thought spring out loud inside the priests mind, albeit vague. He quickly shut up afterwards though, and retracted into deep silence. When he looked out through his eyes, he watched the priest in the mirror stare right back at him through their shared gaze. He almost felt like they were actually looking at each other. The blue of his irises were mixed with Noel’s dark ones, and leaving them a shades between the two, while he was spectating. The demon realised his mistake, and quickly shut off his vision, so the priests eyes returned dark on his next blink.
‘You’re seeing things’ he planted the idea in his head. ‘Scared after the exorcism’
For now he was just hoping he could get him to eat first, because he doubted they would have breakfast if the man figured out that he was still possessed. So he started adding in images and reminders of food and breakfast to try to get his mind on another track.
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