SilverCross: The Last Patriarch

The C.H.U.R.C.H. had encountered a terrible time in its long and storied history — a period that many now regarded as the Purification. Priests, nuns, exorcists, and officials were hanging themselves overnight, their bodies drained of blood, or they were found set ablaze with no earthly explanation, or they simply vanished without a trace. Prior to their deaths, each victim would confess the most horrible atrocities imaginable, or they would convulse in violent horror, their necks twisting at angles that defied human anatomy.

This phenomena had shaken every corner of the C.H.U.R.C.H. to its foundation. Not since the supernatural organization was first formed had anything like this been witnessed. Yet the question that lingered in every corridor, every confessional, every candlelit chapel remained unanswered: Who — or what — was making this happen? Many had offered their interpretations. It was the Day of the Lord. It was a judgment wave sent from on high. And so on. However, there was far more to this than the eye could readily perceive.

In the cool of the evening, on a Saturday prior to the Sabbath, a young priest named Elliot Vincent arrived to confess his sins.

He told the confessor that he had been plagued by horrible visions — gruesome images of his own end. His soul, he confessed, was so thoroughly stained that it would take far more than ordinary penance to cleanse it. Elliot feared deeply that before he died a shameful death within the walls of the C.H.U.R.C.H., he would rot in eternal damnation. And so, in agonizing desperation, he chose to reveal every committed offense, clinging to the fragile hope that such a confession might somehow save his soul from the so-called judgment — or the Day of the Lord.

After Elliot made his full confession to Father Lucian, he wept in agonizing fear. Despite knowing the wages of his sin were yet to be paid, Father Lucian spoke those words of absolution.

"Yes, Elliot. You are forgiven."

And that should have been a relief. But it was only the beginning of a far greater bottleneck. All was said and done. At the very least, Elliot did not recall any further visions after that. Or did he?

Towards midnight, the C.H.U.R.C.H. building rang with a terrible sound — a nightmare about to kick off once more. Father Lucian remembered Elliot's confession with absolute clarity, no matter how deeply it had been engraved into the confidentiality of the confessional. He cried out in alarm as Elliot appeared seemingly possessed, black ink running from no discernible source all over his face as he began speaking in unknown tongues, writhing and convulsing before ultimately burning where he stood.

In the chaos, Father Lucian recalled Elliot whispering something — something only he could somehow hear, eerie and desperate above the commotion.

"Save me, Father. Help my soul."

No one knew who the next victim would be. Father Lucian could only urge his people to live holy lives, no matter the cost.