The world has become an accursed place. Father Mori questioned if
there was such a thing as miracles to be found anymore. God had become
so distant, even to those in the Church, that Father Mori had come to
the darkest conclusion that no one wanted to hear. The possibility that
it was not God who walked away from the Churches of Man, but the
Churches that have taken the path of Man and away from God.
The Cathedral not too far from the University campus had not stirred
with life for most of that evening, other than the occasional
visitations from Mori’s subordinate. Mori himself was secluded in
the Cathedral Library. Upon his face, a beaked mask. The mask of a
plague doctor. Yes, he had wanted to exile himself from the plague of
the Flesh, the plague of the world as it has become infested with two
unique types of evil. The evil that poured from that of a Hellmouth and
the evil that resided within the heart of all men and women, dormant
until the circumstances forced it out to be free.
Black and tones of white, brought together with delicate stitching,
otherwise conceal the tall and firm body of a capable man who is young,
yet aged in spirit. Slouched slightly and reliant on a cane, Father
Mori has not allowed himself to unmask in some time.
A terrible cough from the deepest reserve of his throat and stomach
completely echoed through his bleeding lungs. The ailment that Mori has
become afflicted by is not of this world’s sort. It is a leftover
‘miracle’ from the research and assistance he had given to
De Ascanio.
“You fool… we were so close to escaping death. Yet, you
chose immortality in death itself.” Mori licked the dry palette
of his mouth with an even more coarse tongue. With the tainted magic
that gradually poured from Hellmouth Zeta, the more the Affliction had
begun to wind up inside of him. Mori was a snake amongst men, but
rather than the comfort of his own nest - he had curled around a blade
of ambition. Soon, those ambitions would cut through his scales.
“De Ascanio… you truly flew too close to the sun. God
denied us fire and so, you sought out the Devils themselves…
Terrible. Hell is empty and now all the Devils will soon be here.”
This realization did not come to him naturally. He was once a Priest of
the Church full of optimism as well. Or maybe his first infection was
the charisma of De Ascanio? Regardless of that, the Church needed to
desperately cover its tracks. Father Mori would be the one to shoulder
the blame. Perhaps with his life. What a terrible, dreaded week it had
been. Surely, among the darkest of his days, and he was a part of the
Church's Contingent Effort in the war in Central Africa not so long
ago…. Mori was nostalgic for those terrible evenings.
“To think. You let a beast into your heart. In that God-sized
hole in your heart, you filled it with sickness, evil and
terror.” Mori grasped his own chest. The God-sized hole in his
chest was filled with endless regrets. But the most selfish kind. His
life was soon to fade and years of hard work, trying to do what the
Alchemists have tried for all of existence, to find the source of life
itself… It would be for nothing! “I will never forgive
you, De Ascanio… I am almost glad you have been plunged into
hell… and the vessel that was to be your-”
A familiar sound. Immediately, Mori returned to a state of absolute
silence. His gloved hands worked on some writings, a mere catalog of
the books in the library, to keep himself busy. Or at least, to give
the illusion that he was steadfast at work.
“Father Mori. I am distraught. But I'm ready for the final stage
of our plan.” Cecilia had arrived. Adorned in her own frock, the
clothes of a Nun. Habit included, a few strands of her hair managed to
trail out from the seams. Most remarkably, she too - wore a mask.
Likely to avoid spreading her own tainted body - albeit sanctioned by
the Church, from worsening Father Mori’s condition. “Are
you… fine?”
“Of course, Fatal Daughter. My pleasant Sister in Christ. There
is nothing to worry about.” Father Mori tore himself away from
his ‘work’ with an easy to believe resolve in his acting.
“As my body grows weak, my mind remains strong. As for my spirit,
it has never been more clear and fully conscious.”
“You spoke to yourself again. As if you were discussing things
with De Ascanio…” A voice of skepticism? From a dear
sister? To hear Cecilia state such a thing, it did make the water in
Mori’s blood boil and rumble for a moment. Cecilia could sense
the blood-lust laden stare through his own mask. “The things you
speak of… when you talk to yourself. It makes me wonder,
sometimes Father…”
“Worry not. I’m a once sharp knife having become dull. I
won’t break at the handle just yet.” This was a promise he
would at least try his best to keep. Father Mori stood and grasped at
his walking cane. A beautifully decorated scepter it was - something
worthy of a Pope, if not for the fact it was all carved of wood and
non-painted. The dark oak did leave an impression, however. A slight
cherry tone to it. As if stained with blood prior. “This will be
my last night among you, I am afraid. I will not be able to spare
anymore blessings.”
“That can’t be… you’re among the most powerful
Projectionists in the Church, are you not Father?” That
skepticism from before from Cecilia had turned into worry. Father Mori
diligently examined her, the subtle, almost scared shaking of her body.
To distract himself, he focused on the golden rims of her
plague-mask’s ocular devices and the golden stitches that brought
the beak together. Her own golden ghost worn at her neck, pressed
against her chest - between the clavicles covered in block frock. Only
somewhat obscured by the habit’s whiteness.
“The Church… has bordered on Heresy with my mere
existence. Sister Cecilia. My existence as a Projectionist, one of the
last Alchemists and as a Sanctioned Pagan… it has come to an
end.” He approached and stood before her. Unafraid to show the
extent of his limp and reliance on the cane. These were truly his last
days. “I helped hunt down the other Alchemists, burned the other
Pagans and ensured that the Projectionists would die out this
century… I have lived a good life.”
“Your works are admirable, Father.” An ironic thing, to
come from such a cursed girl as well. Who may one day find herself in
the same position as Mori. “And for your age… at only
thirty six. You have done more than some entire congregations have
and-”
“Alas. My war against the Immortals and those who seek
Immortality. It ends tonight. With that vampire, that witch, that
terrible dummy and the Antiquarian Abomination.” Mori’s
gloved hand grasped the side of his head. A terrible pain stung deep
within the skull, the brain itself had revolted against his body as it
bled internally. “My proximity to that Hellmouth… is
pulling at my stitches yet again.”
“Father…”
“Fear not…” That same hand now grasped her shoulder.
“The Immortality bestowed upon you. It will exist as long as I
do. Once I pass from this world, so will my gift to you. But I have
some years left. Especially if I go into exile and practically mummify
myself. You will continue to do the good work of the Lord.”
Even with Cecilia’s empath capabilities, she could not read
through the masterful Father Mori. She could not feel his intense, deep
resentment that he could only grant immortality to another. One other.
And that the Church had sanctioned him to kill all others like him, to
further limit the number of Immortals that operated against the Church,
while bolstering the Church itself with one. This Faithful Daughter.
Forgive me, De Ascanio. But I would not even give such a blessing to
you. I did not want to give it to Cecilia in the first place. I wanted
it all for myself. But, if you had succeeded in helping me find a way
to continually cast such blessings, including upon myself - I would
have rewarded you with eternal life. Instead, I am cursed by your
bastardly evil. And my own pupil, the carrier of my gift - will be the
one to hunt you down.
“Father. I will kill that vampire and the beast. You have my word.”
“Good. Even the deathless should not be so blessed to have a
second chance. That goes also for the puppet…” A painful
cough expanded Mori’s concealed throat. He swallowed back the
blood as quickly as he could. “Not everyone is blessed to have a
body like your own. Immortality, the divine gift stolen from the
tearful faces of the First Angels, does wicked things to mortals. It is
the very same curse that the Vampires carry - a demonic spirit that
possesses the very heart.”
“I never thought I would be so lucky, as to already be born
without a soul.” Cecilia gave a slight frown beneath her mask.
“If I had one… would I really be corrupted and
indistinguishable from the damned?”
“While the Vampires lust for blood to maintain their health,
your… affliction is a little more unique. You suffer from the
sin that can only be defeated by fleeing from it. But considering the
perversion of evil on this night…” With a shake of his
head, Father Mori stepped away to gather some more candles and the
appropriate seals. It was time for the ritual. “Allow me to
bestow one last gift upon you. One last blessing. A complete removal of
your lust.”
“A complete removal… of my lust?” The words had
quivered from Cecilia. “I had no idea that was possible. I was
told that was not possible…”
“The Church is right about that. To kill the character of lust
entirely in the heart, whether it be for pleasure, for food, or for
validation… it would be to kill the inherit, free-will of the
spirit. But you, my dear Sister Cecilia. Have none.” Explained
Father Mori. The candles soon to be set and lit. The incense burner was
to be prepared next.
“How does one surpass such a sin?” Cecilia’s body
felt overly warm now. The shame had taken its seat as the throne of her
well-being. Suppressed beneath the wait, she wished for a whip in hand
- to lash her back. To rip her mind away from intrusive thoughts.
“A sin that can only be fled from…”
“A confrontation of spirit. The evil that seduces can be
seduced…” The burner had begun to heat. What scent of its
incense that made it through his mask made him cough yet again.
“Sister Cecilia - think of the story of the widow Judith.”
“The Widow Judith…” Behind her own mask, Cecilia
closed her eyes and meditated on the biblical story. “Judith
infiltrated the army of Nebuchadnezzer… the invading Assyrians.
Seduced a general named Holofernes. Who intended to destroy her home of
Bethulia.”
“And after she seduced him, what happened then?”
“She tempted him with a drink. And once drunk, she decapitated him.”
“With a demon of lust, you shall do the same in the Mental
Projection I will prepare for you…” Father Mori, a
Sanctioned Pagan who could tell the future with dreams. Who could
prophesize the will of others, the dead and living - was also a creator
of miraculous dreams. A crafter of dreams who could create a marble of
reality within the dreamer through his Projection spells. “This
will strengthen your spirit. And with nothing to tempt you, your spirit
will be stronger and wiser. It is likely, if you so need it, your body
will manifest… Stigmata. This night will be very holy for
you.”
Without thinking, without rejecting and without asking - Sister Cecilia
stood in the library of candles. Which glowed like beautiful crystals.
Their light was calming, holy, loving. There was no betrayal here - as
she laid confidently on the floor. Father Mori would provide for her,
she told herself. Her hands crossed over her chest and there she laid,
like a corpse at a funeral. Ready for this dream.
“Project away, Father.” She said with a cheerfulness that
was often lost on her. “Although, I am worried-”
“Worried about what? Dear Fatal Faithful. Sister Cecilia…
your body will retain its holy virginity, like the holy virgin you were
born out of from the Alchemist’s Coven. A holy mistake, you were
- but from this night onward, you will only be holy.” Retired
back to his chair, now turned to face the soon to slumber Cecilia,
Father Mori removed the gloves from his hands. Pale, soft hands - like
that of a young man who never once laboured over anything, came
together in prayer. “Be strong, Sister. What will only be a few
seconds for me, may be a long, disastrous battle in your mind.”
But surely, it would be worth any and all benefits to the future battle.
“In the power of my own capability
Lord - cast away my chains and allow me to do wickedness in the name of good
I pull from myself a terrible power, to accomplish a great deed in your name
Keeper of the living, Protector of the dead
Who sees all and forgives all
Under your authority alone I ask
Allow me to send a dream to our dear Sister Cecilia
Under your power, in absolute measures, allow me to gift her another blessing
Even if it is to be pillaged from my own body
May Cecilia accept this dream from under the clock of your protection
In turn, guard her and guide her through the path I will weave
Beloved of my heart, Death protect us
Death, my kind lady, be kind to us
Do not leave Cecilia unprotected by day nor night
Grant us all a peaceful and painless death
But a terrible nightmare to our enemies
Allow us to ensure evil never rests
A dream, a dream, wrapped within a dream
Sister Cecilia
The Lord will allow me to give this to you”