The wind blew across the darkened dirt road. A hot wind that blew with it the dirt; dust that felt like it was specially designed to get into Father Donald Atkins eyes. Donald stood in the road, still as a statue, waiting for something, although his face would not tell what. In one hand was a bible, scuffed and worn, and in the other was a gun. A six shooter with a white handle; a blood red cross etched into the barrel. Donald finished loading the gun with his bullets, the silver glinting in the full-moonlight, and sighed as he cocked the hammer. “Hello Arthur,” he said suddenly, “you certainly have been making a mess of things, haven’t you?”
In response, a growl came from down the street. A large wolf, its hot breath stinking of blood, stood on its hind legs with viscera dripping from its muscled jowls. It tensed, its body rippling with potential energy. Donald also tensed, his finger growing taught over the trigger. “Shit Art, I truly wish that you wouldn’t,” Donald shouted at the terrible beast. A roar answered him, as the grisly creature broke into a sprint. “Father forgive him,” He whispered, gripping the bible tight, “With this bullet sanctify his soul in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
The beast was finally upon him. As Father Donald felt its hot breath on his face a gunshot rang out, and Arthur’s brain sprayed through the top of his skull. The gun stuck in the chin of the creature smoked as Donald caught Arthur Stevens in his arms, the beastly features melting from his body like wax. A meek man laid in his arms, limp and dripping with blood. Donald crossed himself and picked the man up. He threw him over his shoulder and headed into town, knowing that in the morning he would have to tell the man's wife about what had really happened that night.
“I’m sure it’s that damn Elvis,” Lucy Smithers said with tears in her eyes, “His pelvic magic has corrupted my child, and is sending him to hell!” Father Stephen Atkins sighed.
“Now, I am quite sure that is not what caused it.” he said, clearly concerned for the child that lay writhing in the other room, “Let me see your boy.”
The mother opened the door to her childs room, showing Stephen the grisly sight within. On the ground was the body of another priest who lay dead with blood spurting from the slice in his throat. At the sight of his mother a young boy no older than ten stood up, blood dripping down his arms and mouth, his eyes a milky white.
“Hey Lucy, I’m home,” The boy said in a voice like ice that chilled her to the bone. “I’m afraid I can’t eat dinner tonight mommy; I think I’ve spoiled my appetite!” The boy let out a screeching laugh, and his mother covered her ears, running from the room crying. Stephen calmly pulled out a bottle with a cross on it, and put a few drops on his hands, rubbing his hands together once the bottle had been returned to his pocket. The boy screamed and rushed Steven, producing a knife from his sleeve. He swung the knife down at Father Stephen, only for his hand to be caught, and immediately it began to burn. The boy gasped as smoke began pouring from his mouth.
“Sanctify his soul in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” Father Atkins whispered. All of a sudden, Stephen hit the boy in the chest with the crucifix that the boy didn’t even know was there. The boy fell to the ground limp, breathing deeply as blood poured from his mouth.
As Stephen turned to open the door, the accursed demon rose in smoke from the blood pooling next to the boy. It rushed forward to attack the priest who had cast it out. A choking sound was all that escaped its lips, as Stephen held the demons throat in his hands. “In Christs name I condemn you to hell” he said softly as he crushed the demons throat, and watched it melt into a puddle of wax. With that, he left the room to tell the boy's mother what had happened within it.
The neon lights of the city were blinding to anyone not used to them. The smog burned the throats of anyone not wearing a ventilated face mask. Father John Atkins didn’t care however, he had a purpose to achieve. The gauntlet he wore began to ding, and as he pulled up its holographic display it told him exactly where to find his prize. Parked outside a little restaurant called Xalve’s Martian Meat and Potatoes, a little foreign food place just across the border of New York and Jersey, was an unassuming Mitsubi-Wagon. The car was very nice, with tires that floated just above the ground, and a cherry red paint job. It was not the car that would be expected of the leader of a church. A man in a dark jacket stepped out of the restaurant and into the car, taking off toward its next destination. John followed just out of sight, as they drove into the parking lot of a rundown building. A bright sign out front blared the message “St. Damien’s Church of the True Father.”
As the man went into the church, John pulled an intricate knife from its sheath. Inside the sheath was water which wet the blade as it came out. John ran his finger up the blade, piercing it at the tip of the dagger. “Father forgive me,” he said, crossing himself solemnly, “use this blade to sanctify the damned in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” With these words he sheathed the knife and concealed it as he made his way into the building.
The man stood in the dark, patiently waiting for John to arrive. “Well,” he said, with an icy voice, “I thought that I had gotten a tail.” John stepped into the moonlight that was streaming into the room “Release him demon,” John said determinately, “I command you in Christ’s name.” The man ignored him and continued speaking. “I was wondering when we’d see you again Atkins, we truly have been running amok since you left,” he said,” it must be so lonely coming back to a world with so little of your kind.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, you wretch,” John replied, gripping the knife tightly within his coat, “I’ve never seen you before in my life.” The man grinned. “Oh, we’ve been fighting for years, Atkins, and we will fight for years to come. You can’t vanquish us.” John’s face grew cold. The air grew thick as ice in anticipation for what came next. In a flash, the demon attacked, its waxen features gleaming in the moonlight as claws grew from his fingers. John drew the knife and slashed upward, cutting off the demon’s hand. Its blood spurted in the air spattering the wall, all the while sizzling and boiling. The demon screeched, grasping at its newly acquired bloody stump, and Father John Atkins made the killing blow.
Striking true with his blade, John struck the creature in its heart. It began to writhe and gasp until it’s gasping turned into a laugh. A deep, guttural laugh that chilled John to his very bones. “That’s one down, infinity to go, Ey Father” The creature spat, his face bubbling like a bloody candle. As soon as the creature finished speaking, it melted into a pile of wax, leaving behind the skeletal remains of the man it once possessed. With this John left, disappearing into the darkness so that he wouldn’t have to explain to the police what had really happened that night.
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