(A/N):
Thanks for the support!!!
Drop a meme here that you find funny. Or reflects your mood.
-------------------------------------------------
Convent...
Meanwhile, back at the convent—Cecellia stood near the arched window of the dormitory corridor, her hands resting instinctively over her swollen belly.
It was impossible to ignore now.
In the span of one week, her body had changed as if months had been stolen from time itself.
What should have been subtle had become undeniable—her abdomen rounded, heavy, the weight of it pulling at her spine like an anchor.
The other sisters watched her with reverence, not concern.
That was what frightened her the most.
"...."
Where there should have been fear, there was adoration.
Where there should have been questions, there was obedience.
They treated her as if she were already sacred.
Nuns bowed their heads when she passed.
Meals were brought to her room without request.
Mother Superior's gaze lingered on her like a proud sculptor admiring a finished statue they kept telling her.
"You are blessed, Chosen. Favored."
The word Mother followed her everywhere like a shadow.
Cecellia swallowed and turned away from the window.
-Gulp
"...."
Her reflection in the glass looked wrong.
Her face was paler. Her eyes darker.
There was a faint, unnatural glow beneath her skin, like heat trapped under ice.
At night, she could swear she felt movement—not the gentle flutter she'd read about, but something strong, deliberate… impatient.
She pressed her palm against her belly.
Something pushed back.
Cecellia staggered a step away, her breath hitching as she whispered.
"No, This isn't right."
Her thoughts drifted back to the prayer hall, to the book she had opened by accident days ago—an old, leather-bound volume shelved far too high for casual reading.
She hadn't meant to read it.
But one line had burned itself into her mind.
"Demons wear the skin of angels when they wish to walk among men."
She didn't take it seriously.
Now, the words echoed with terrifying clarity. Her eyes moved down the corridor.
Days had passed since Cecellia last saw her friend—the one who joked about faith, who admitted she joined the convent for shelter rather than belief.
When Cecellia asked about her, the answers were always the same.
"She's praying... She's being purified... She's resting."
But no one would meet her eyes when they said it.
At night, Cecellia heard sounds—soft crying, quickly muffled.
Footsteps where there should have been none.
Chanting in a language she didn't recognize, rising and falling beneath the floor.
And always… the sense of being watched.
She backed into her room and closed the door, pressing her forehead against the wood as if it could ground her.
Her heart raced.
'What if this isn't God?What if I'm not chosen—just used?'
Her gaze drifted to the crucifix on the wall.
For the first time since arriving, she didn't feel comfort looking at it.
She felt judged. Trapped.
Cecellia clenched her fists, resolve hardening through the fear as she whispered.
"...."
"I have to leave, Before it's too late."
But deep beneath her ribs, something stirred again—slow, powerful, possessive.
And for the first time, Cecellia understood the truth she had been avoiding.
Whatever she was carrying—it did not intend to let her go.
Cecellia's breath came shallow as the thought refused to let go.
'Escape.'
Not prayer. Not obedience. Escape.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the wooden table as memory surfaced—Sister Isabelle's lesson in the yard days ago.
The way she had spoken calmly, almost gently, while demonstrating how to kill a chicken.
"Hold firmly. Do not hesitate. A clean motion. Mercy comes from certainty."
At the time, Cecellia's hands had trembled too much to try.
"...."
Now, that lesson rearranged itself in her mind—not as cruelty, but as instruction.
'Decisive. Precise. No hesitation.'
Her eyes drifted to the narrow hallway, to the locked doors, to the routines she had already memorized.
The prayer times. The blind spots where no one lingered long.
Something inside her clicked.
The fear didn't vanish—but it shifted, sharpening into something colder. Something purposeful.
Then—
BOOM.
The sound tore through the convent like a fist through glass.
The walls shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling beams.
A distant scream echoed, followed by chaos—raised voices, hurried footsteps, the sharp ringing of the alarm bell.
Cecellia gasped and staggered back a step as instinct took over.
-Gasp
"What—?! An explosion?! Saint Mary protect us!"
She didn't think. She moved.
Throwing open her door, Cecellia rushed into the corridor along with the other nuns, robes swaying, candles rattling in trembling hands.
The air smelled wrong—burnt stone, smoke, and something metallic underneath it all.
They ran toward the main entrance.
The massive wooden doors stood crooked, one hinge blown apart, black scorch marks licking up the stone archway like clawed fingers.
Smoke curled lazily into the night air.
Outside, rain hissed where it struck something hot.
Cecellia froze at the threshold.
"...."
For just a heartbeat, through the smoke and firelight, she thought she saw a silhouette beyond the gates—tall, unmoving, outlined by a faint orange glow.
Then the shadow was gone.
Mother Superior's voice cut through the confusion, sharp and commanding.
"Inside! All of you—inside, now!"
The nuns obeyed instantly, fear overriding curiosity.
All except Cecellia. Her pulse thundered as she stared at the ruined doorway as her mind whispered.
'Distraction,'
Not panic. Not accident. An opening.
Slowly, Cecellia placed a hand over her belly.
Whatever lived inside her shifted again—restless, impatient.
For the first time, she didn't recoil. Instead, she leaned closer to the shattered door, eyes burning with a fragile, dangerous resolve.
'If I'm going to run…It has to be now.'
The shock hadn't even settled when Father Sal strode in through the side corridor, rainwater still clinging to his coat—Cardinal Francisco right behind him.
Their faces tightened the moment they saw the shattered entrance and the scorch marks crawling up the stone like burn scars.
"...."
"...."
Before anyone could speak—A laugh rolled through the hall.
Low. Hollow. Burning.
The flames at the entrance twisted, folding inward unnaturally.
From the fire, a skull-shaped silhouette formed—huge at first—then compressed, shrinking, condensing, until boots touched the stone floor.
Ghost Rider stepped out of the fire.
The moment the flaming skull became clear, several nuns screamed, clutching each other and collapsing to their knees.
One dropped her rosary; the beads skittered uselessly across the floor.
Mother Superior fell back, hands trembling as she clasped them together as she cried, voice cracking.
"Lord Almighty, save us from this devil, Save us from this demon!"
The flames around Ghost Rider stilled as he slowly raised one skeletal hand.
With a single, casual wave—The fire parted, forming a clear path through the entrance, as if reality itself obeyed him.
Footsteps echoed.
-Thud. -Thud.
-Thud. -Thud. -Thud...
From behind the wall of fading heat, Inadu, Caroline, Gayathri, and Debbie stepped inside, eyes scanning the convent with cold, practiced focus.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Caroline's gaze lingered on the terrified nuns.
Gayathri frowned, sensing the air.
-Frown
Debbie swallowed hard, but stood her ground. Inadu's eyes… were utterly unreadable.
Ghost Rider tilted his flaming skull slightly, chains clinking softly.
"ENOUGH PRAYERS."
His voice boomed, vibrating through stone and bone alike.
"THE GOD YOU CALL ON IS NOT LISTENING."
Several nuns sobbed openly now in panic thinking their life is going to end.
-Sob -Sob
"...."
Father Sal's face went pale—but only for a fraction of a second.
Then his lips moved in silent prayer, fingers brushing the hidden crucifix beneath his coat.
Ghost Rider turned his burning gaze toward him.
"YOU."
The fire in his eyes flared brighter.
"I HAVE BEEN CHASING YOU FROM QUITE SOME TIME."
Father Sal took a step back despite himself.
"...."
"This is a holy place,"
The Cardinal said, forcing steel into his voice.
"You have no power here."
Ghost Rider let out a low, crackling chuckle.
-GEGE...
"HOLY?"
He lifted one boot and stamped it lightly against the stone floor.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
-BAM!!!
Black veins—thin as cracks in glass—rippled briefly beneath the tiles, then vanished.
"HOLINESS DOES NOT GROW IN SOIL SOAKED WITH LIES."
Inadu stepped forward, her voice calm, lethal as she spoke coldly with a look of disgust.
"Stop pretending, This convent is a womb for something unholy. You've been feeding it with devotion and blood."
A nun whimpered not understanding what is happing except few who new the full story behind the scene at the convent.
Debbie's eyes locked onto Father Sal, her voice shaking but firm.
"This place… it connects to the realm I saw. The one full of screaming souls."
Caroline blurred forward in an instant—not attacking, just appearing inches from Father Sal's face as she gasped.
-Gasp
She said softly, fangs flashing for just a heartbeat.
"Careful, You're standing very close to dying."
Ghost Rider stepped past them all, chains dragging lightly across the floor as he stopped at the center of the hall.
His skull turned toward the inner sanctum.
"NO MORE HIDING BEHIND ROBES."
Then, slower—deliberate.
"NO MORE CHILDREN OFFERED TO MONSTERS."
The flames around his shoulders rose, not wild—but controlled.
-FLARE!!!
Patient. Hungry.
Behind him, Cecellia stood frozen at the edge of the corridor, hand pressed to her swollen belly, eyes locked on the burning figure.
"...."
"...."
Father Sal stumbled backward, his composure finally shattering.
"Step back!"
He screamed, voice cracking as he pointed a trembling finger at the flaming figure.
"Daemon—step back, or your soul will be burned by divine fire!"
Ghost Rider's response was laughter.
-GRARARARARA!!!
Not mocking. Not amused.
It was the sound of damnation remembering its purpose.
"MY SOUL IS FIRE."
The laughter echoed through the convent like iron scraping bone.
Before Mother Superior could turn and flee deeper into the corridors, Caroline vanished.
One blink—she was gone.
-FWOOSH!!!
The next—she reappeared beside the old nun, fingers tangled brutally in her hair.
-Ahhhh!!!
With vampire strength that ignored weight and age alike, Caroline dragged her across the stone floor, heels scraping uselessly, until she dumped her at Ghost Rider's side.
Mother Superior sobbed, clawing at Caroline's wrist.
-Sob
"...."
Ghost Rider didn't even look at her.
Inadu raised her hand. Dark veins of magic pulsed along her arm as she spoke a single word—ancient, sharp.
The air collapsed inward.
"...."
One by one, the ordinary nuns dropped unconscious, bodies slumping where they stood.
"...."
"...."
"...."
Those who had truly known the convent's secret—the ones who had prayed with blood instead of faith—rose into the air, suspended, limbs frozen, mouths open in silent terror.
The convent filled with the sound of ragged breathing.
Then—
"STOP!"
Cecellia's voice cut through the fear.
She staggered forward, clutching her swollen belly, eyes wide with panic and desperation.
"I'm not with them!"
She cried, looking straight at Inadu.
"I didn't know—I swear—I'm a victim here!"
Inadu's eyes flicked to her.
For a moment, there was only cold assessment.
Then Inadu raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly toward Ghost Rider.
"...."
A silent question. Ghost Rider's flaming skull turned.
He looked at Cecellia. Not at her body.
Not at the child she carried. But through her.
Through fear. Through doubt. Through the lie she'd been wrapped in.
After a long second, he gave a single nod.
-Nod
"...."
The pressure around Cecellia vanished as she collapsed to her knees, gasping as if she'd just been pulled back from drowning.
The spell holding her broke—but the others remained suspended.
Ghost Rider stepped forward, chains rattling softly.
He stopped directly in front of Father Sal.
"YOU WARN ME ABOUT BURNING SOULS."
His skull leaned closer to father Sal's face.
"YOU SHOULD HAVE WARNED YOURSELF."
Father Sal shook violently now, prayers spilling from his mouth in broken Italian and Latin while he sobbed in fear.
"This is God's will, You don't understand—you don't know what we are bringing into the world!"
Ghost Rider straightened.
"OH, I KNOW."
The flames around him flared—not wild, not uncontrolled—but focused.
"YOU ARE NOT CREATING A MIRACLE."
He gestured toward Cecellia without turning.
"YOU ARE BUILDING A DOOR."
His burning gaze locked back onto Father Sal.
"AND SOMETHING ON THE OTHER SIDE IS ALREADY KNOCKING. RIGHT"
Silence fell heavy over the convent as Ghost Rider's eyes landed on Cecellia's belly.
Father Sal's gaze snapped to Cecellia's belly.
"...."
"No—no,"
He whispered, then laughed, the sound breaking into something unhinged.
"The Son… the Messenger of God—save me!"
Cecellia cried out as pain ripped through her suddenly, sharp and overwhelming.
Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold stone floor, clutching her abdomen as another wave hit her.
Caroline was there instantly.
She pressed a hand to Cecellia's belly—and froze.
"There's movement,"
Caroline said, voice tight.
"Too much. Too fast."
Gayathri and Debbie rushed in, kneeling beside Cecellia without hesitation, despite the chaos and fear still hanging in the air.
"Breathe,"
Gayathri urged, steady and firm.
"Look at me—stay focus."
Debbie grabbed Cecellia's hand, squeezing hard.
"You're not alone. We've got you."
Cecellia screamed again as pain surged—unnatural, relentless.
-Ahhh!!!
Blood stained the stone beneath her, spreading far too quickly, and the air itself seemed to recoil.
Father Sal's laughter rose, sharp and triumphant as he crowed.
"It lives, Do you hear it? It lives because of me!"
Chains whistled. Ghost Rider moved.
-WHISTLE -WHISTLE
In a blur of hellfire and iron, the chain wrapped around Father Sal's torso and yanked him forward, cutting off the laughter mid-breath.
Ghost Rider pulled him close—close enough that the priest could see his own reflection in the burning skull.
"YOU CALL IT A SON."
The words shook the walls.
"YOU FED IT LIES AND BLOOD."
Father Sal tried to scream.
BAM!!!
He never finished. Ghost Rider's fist slammed into him—not with rage, but judgment.
Before Father Sal could even hit the floor, hellfire consumed him completely.
No body. No remains.
Just a brief flash of ash scattering into nothing.
Gone. The laughter died with him.
Ghost Rider turned back to Cecellia.
The flames around him dimmed, controlled, as he knelt beside her.
His presence didn't burn now—it anchored.
"LISTEN TO ME."
His voice, still thunderous, carried certainty.
"WHAT IS COMING DOES NOT BELONG HERE."
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************
(Author's POV)
(A/N):
Guys it was the new cover image I planned to add to this story what you guys think about it.
As for giving power to others. I came up with a idea contract. While someone can gain ability after being exposed to angle fire like Jenny. But this will make him to be able to give a specific power he needed them to have.
Thanks for reading the chapter!
Please give a review and power stone!!!