[ The borderlands of Branlowe - Cathedral of Saint Morwenna ]
The wind howled as though mourning something long forgotten.
Clouds scattered themselves across the sky, obscuring the pale moonlight that bathed the old cathedral's spires in ghostly silver. Mark hovered in midair.
His coat fluttered like wings of smoke.
Below him, the towering stained glass windows of the old cathedral shimmered… maybe because of the flickering lights inside.
His gaze lingered on the tallest window…an angel kneeling, sword in one hand, olive branch in the other.
Mark scoffed… the illusion of peace… the mask of righteousness! He had seen it all!
Inside, it looked empty.
Almost hollow.
Just like him.
Mark drifted down soundlessly. His boots kissed the cathedral steps. His presence stirred the pigeons nesting in the alcoves, sending them fluttering into the night…sensing the presence of a predator.
He paused at the great wooden doors, one hand resting against the carved archangel. Then, with a long breath, he pushed them open.
Creeeaaak!!!
The echo of those doors carried across the sanctuary as if stirring the dead…
Mark stepped inside. His footsteps rang sharp against the white marble floors. The incense had long faded. The candles had melted into stubs. But the silence was intact…too intact.
It pressed against his ears like cotton.
He walked past the pews…each one was cracked, worn by years of prayers and grief. And he slowly approached the wooden partition near the altar.
His fingers grazed the screen…now worn smooth.
He could just barely make out a figure behind it.
Head bowed,robes pristine.
Still.
Looking as if lost in slumber.
"Sleeping on the job, Father?" Mark tapped on the screen lightly and scoffed.
He pulled out the wooden chair and sat down, his modestly broad frame folding into the space like a shadow slipping into place.
He leaned close, resting one elbow on the booth's divider. His voice was light at first…almost playful.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…" Followed with a chuckle. " Today I ended one of my saddest stories… I sent Melony to where she belongs."
A beat of silence.
And then he added in a lower voice, "Though, I must admit, it didn't feel as good as I thought it would."
He smirked, running a gloved finger along the edge of the divider.
"Would you believe me if I said that I almost didn't go through with it?"
Still no response.
His smile faltered slightly.
"Father?"
A creak.
A shift.
The figure stirred…finally…but not like the priest. Not like Father Gonzalez.
The head lifted.
Mark's entire body tensed.
Pale, gaunt. Fangs slicked with fresh blood.
Red eyes gleaming with amusement.
The 'pastor' ( imposter) tilted his head slowly…mockingly.
"You…" Mark breathed.
His chair screeched backwards.
With a snarl, he reached through the lattice, yanking the vampire clean through it, wood splintering like dry bone.
He slammed the creature against the wall, hand tightening around its throat.
"Where is Father Gonzalez?! How dare you wear his robes! Where is he, you filth!"
The vampire only hissed, fangs glinting like ivory knives. But Mark had already seen it…
The crimson stain soaking the robes.
Fresh.
Too fresh.
Mark's grip faltered just a bit as dread curled in his gut. He threw the vampire aside with inhuman strength, sending it crashing into a column.
The sanctuary trembled.
Mark didn't watch it fall.
He was already sprinting.
"FATHER GONZALEZ!"His voice cracked.
"GONZALEZ!"
He ran behind the altar, past the choir stalls, through the arched hallway where sunlight never touched. The cathedral walls stretched on like a maze…but he knew this place. It was sacred. It was once a haven… his haven.
But now it smelled like blood…like dread.
His ears caught it…a faint whimper.From behind the storage cupboard.
Mark reached it in a blink and yanked the doors open.
"No!!!" It was more like a bark than a gasp.
Father Gonzalez slumped forward, into his arms, like a rag doll made of paper and skin. His lips were tinged blue. His throat bore two perfect puncture marks. But worst of all… The silver ring on his hand…was gone.
Empty!!!
Mark's eyes widened.
"You didn't..." He gasped. His fingers shook as they touched the man's cold face.
The pastor's eyelids fluttered. Barely.
"...Ma…Mark..."
"You took the poison…" Mark whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "To stop the turning."
Gonzalez's eyes cracked open, milky with pain. "Didn't want to…become one of them…"
Mark nodded slowly, kneeling fully now, holding the man's shoulders firm. "You shouldn't have stayed behind. I told you I was handling this."
A faint smile ghosted the pastor's lips. "I stayed…for you."
Mark flinched.
"Even the damned…deserve sanctuary,"Gonzalez rasped.
His breath was growing thinner. More ragged.
"Don't talk like that," Mark barked in a whisper, jaw clenched. "You are going to make it. We will get a blood purifier, or…"
"No." Gonzalez coughed. Blood bubbled between his lips.
Mark looked away.
"Listen…to me…" the old man whispered. "You…were never accursed, my son."
That word.
Son!!
Mark's eyes flicked back to his face, stunned.
Gonzalez gripped his collar faintly, breath rattling.
"You…were chosen. The devil doesn't only mark the ones he wants, he also marks the ones he fears…"
Mark's brows furrowed, the ground tilting beneath his thoughts.
"I don't understand."
"You will…one day…"
He heaved a heavy breath .
Then came a whisper, softer than dusk… "...protect her."
Mark looked at his face, confused.
He pulled out a photo and thrust it in Mark's palm. " She… is my granddaughter. Arabella… My Bella… save her… "
And then the weight in Mark's arms went still.
Mark didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Save her?
What kind of a fucking last request was that?! How could someone damned like him ever save anybody?
He looked at Father Gonzalez's lifeless face. He wanted to shake the pastor and demand answers. He was sure he would answer in riddles, like he always did but he needed to hear them… Father Gonzalez was his only tether with the life he once lived… now even that was lost.
The wind howled again through the cracked stained glass.
Somewhere behind him, the vampire groaned and began to rise.
Mark gently laid the old man down, standing up slowly…mechanically.
Then he turned.
The air thickened. The walls shuddered.
Mark's shadow grew longer, darker.
The vampire staggered to its feet. "You don't scare me…"
Mark said nothing.
He simply raised his hand…and the fire from the nearest candelabra twisted unnaturally, answering his call.
It leapt from wick to floor, crawling across the tiles like a beast unleashed.
The vampire screamed as the flames found its undead flesh.
Mark didn't flinch as it burned…its body collapsed into smoke, shrieking obscenities.