𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃【 18+ 】

黑暗的愛 【PROLOGUE】 ███████ ✶

─────── ( no warnings apply to this chapter)

orange moonlight spilled through the chancel windows, painting the fractured saints in shards of colour. the hues scattered across the nave, weaving through the darkness and softening the worn mahogany of the pews. beneath them lay kneelers, storing various forms of literature as their spines split and their pages turned yellow with age.

a man weathered by years of hard labour and blond hair, stepped before the altar. his fingers grazed the marble railing, its surface worn smooth, fading into polished stone. the church was always ready for offerings and sacraments, even at this hour; no appointed time was needed to mark its solemn presence.

for as long as god endured, there was no room for rest.

but tonight, the weight settled heavier than usual, as it always did in this godforsaken village... a dread that lingered even with observant eyes, a shadow that refused to leave, like a nightmare trapped in reality.

it was no surprise that this village bore bad omens — crops withered under fickle skies, droughts stole seasons, and illnesses claimed the ones he loved. there was nothing he could do. his hands shook as he knelt at the altar, the barrel of his rifle stabbing painfully beneath his chin, his gaze fixed on the almost-reddish moon that fractured through the stained glass.

he felt powerless, selfish in his despair. to spill blood within the sacred heart of the church was more than sin; it was a mark that would follow through lifetimes. he would never be forgiven. worse than his guilt.

he had prayed and prayed until his voice gave out. he had begged the god — any god that could hear him — for mercy that never came, for a flicker of hope that never rose. what use was living when all he loved had already melted like gold pressed against a flame?

candles trembled across the wall sconces, in the twin chandeliers, along the chancel steps. their light wavered in pity, each flame bending toward him as though it could listen and feel his pain. the heat pressed close, heavy with incense and the faint scent of age.

for a place so holy, the air felt almost suffocating to be in.

still, he knelt, waiting, hoping for interruption, for a sign — any sign,please. nothing came. only the familiar weight of dread and the low throb of disappointment stirring in his gut.

the voices that once plagued his mind were quiet now, resigned to his final decision, as if shame itself had called them to rest.

he closed his eyes, blond lashes brushing his cheeks, and whispered a final prayer before his finger lingered over the trigger.

"you said the meek shall inherit the earth,” he breathed, his chest rising and falling as the words scraped their way out of his throat like shards of metal. ”i... i have been meek. i have been faithful.”

he paused, trembling, gaze lifting to the moon’s pale face through the distorted glass. a dolorous smile ghosted his lips in thought.

"it’s strange,” he murmured. ”how hunger still gnaws at what little remains of me. i cannot cast it out.” his voice thinned in the air, hanging quietly, breaking with exhausted defeat. there was nothing left he could feel. ”how can i live in a world i cannot nurture with love? what right have i to breathe when they no longer do?"

the silence pressed close, heavy and hot, like coal against his ribcage. the candle flames wavered, turning their faces away as if not to bear witness to what could happen next.

"if there is mercy,” he whispered, the words shivering into a fragile laugh as a tear traced his cheek, ”let it find me now... please. release me from this sorrow, if mercy still remembers my name.”

his lips trembled around those final words, their meaning slipping from him like breath. the ache had never quieted, not since the day his heart caved in to that fear — the day his child followed their mother into the grave. he would remember it for a lifetime and more,if that were even possible after death...

was there really a god out there?

"let my soul return to dust beneath your feet. let the light that made me burn no more, for i am unworthy of the essence you have given me.”

his voice fell faint and spent. ”please forgive me, just this once? please?"

“...”

“...”

“...”

"humans are such fickle creatures...”

the voice reached him first, echoing off the stone before the light even appeared, thick and trembling as the cathedral itself seemed to shudder under its weight.

then the light poured through the windows — impossibly bright, yet carrying a faint warmth that seeped into every hidden corner. the priest stumbled back, his finger slipping from the trigger as he fell to his knees. the rifle discharged, the shot ringing above him, and his heart skipped in sudden terror.

he squinted through the radiance, and in that glow, he felt it — a presence latching onto him, touching the hollow parts of his soul and sending shivers down his spine. it was not happiness, not joy, but a warmth that pressed against him in a way that made his chest burn from the inside out. it felt as though something dark had just been born.

"who... who is there?!" he hissed under his breath, voice barely audible over the pulsing brilliance. sweat dribbled down his temple as his hands shook at his sides.

the light itself seemed to answer, more than the voice ever did, and for a moment he thought he must be hallucinating — until the figure stepped from its blinding centre.

the sight froze him: unearthly, divine, impossibly beautiful, a vision that struck him with both awe and fear. he could not find words for its beauty. it was ethereal, as if this moment were part of his insanity.

when the figure moved, air flowing around it and legs stretching forward, the light disappeared behind it like molten silver. the church returned to its familiar state, bathed again in the moon’s crimson glow shining through the glass, candles reigniting along the pews and steps.

he could not recognise the being —of course he could not. god should never show himself; why now, and in this form?

as the figure hovered, leaning slightly to lift his chin, the priest swallowed hard. the edges of its alb billowed, draping loosely and hinting at the sturdy body beneath. the fabric was sheer, impossibly gauzy, teasing the limits of mortal perception that were his own.

he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as the being reached toward him.

"come now,” the voice said, both gentle and commanding. ”you have called me. what do i owe this mortal one? speak."

when he reopened his eyes, he finally took in the rest of it.

it was a contradiction of being— how could something so inhuman be so beautiful? it’s tongue long and flickering like a serpent’s, and from its form sprouted tentacles that writhed and coiled like a waking nightmare. yet it gleamed with bright shades, colours rippling across it as if it were some divine chameleon, sent to test his faith.

if this was what god truly looked like, he was at its mercy.

the priest swallowed, his voice no more than a rasp, ”i have called... yes, i have called... but i do not know why..."

a low hum stirred within it, resonant and deep, almost dripping with mockery. its mouth curved downward as sightless white eyes bored into him. its hands traced the tear-stained curve of his cheek, feeling the rough age beneath its fingertips. it glided down the length of his throat and collarbone until it hovered just above his heart, brushing the blond hair at his chest.

"what is your name, mortal one?"

he trembled beneath its touch, clutching the altar until his knuckles turned white. ”benedict,” he breathed, voice fragile as the church’s glass. ”benedict marlowe.”

then panic seized him. ”i have sinned... i have failed... i cannot — i cannot undo what has been done..."

it hushed him with a fingertip trailing the hollow of his chest, its palm settling beneath the mound of his breast — they were full, even at this age. he quivered as its touch wandered further, tracing the landscape of his skin, down to his ankles, drawing him closer with a motion that felt both tender and inescapable.

"the ones you loved are gone,” it murmured, tone neither cruel nor kind. ”yet still you cling to what is fragile. how... amusing.”

a tear welled in his lashes, and the words that followed marked his soul for eternity.

"give yourself to me, wholly, and i will show you what it means to feel alive again.”

© CASEDEVIANT 2025

all rights reserved.

all art by @BloodyBeni on twitter