Chapter 73 – Submission
Vincent gauged the distance, then suddenly lunged.
His palm shot forward, aiming directly for Gideon's throat.
In his mind, it was simple: one second to crush the priest's windpipe, silence him before he could recite a single holy verse.
But the instant Vincent's muscles coiled, Gideon already knew.
After a brief pause, the priest made his choice—he didn't move.
Vincent's hand slashed forward, a cruel grin spreading across his face, malice no longer hidden.
Then—
Bang!
His strike slammed against something invisible.
Vincent froze, eyes narrowing. For a heartbeat he thought he imagined it.
But Gideon only "reacted" a moment later, feigning surprise.
Vincent shook off the doubt and struck again. And again.
In just two seconds, he unleashed a flurry of blows, each faster and stronger than any human should manage. The room shook with the sound of impacts.
Yet every strike was stopped cold.
His brow furrowed, disbelief spreading into shock.
Impossible. Every attack… blocked?
And Gideon hadn't even lifted a hand.
Snarling, Vincent drew back and hurled a punch at the priest's head—this time he saw it clearly.
His fist hit a barrier. An unseen wall of force.
"What… is this?" he hissed.
"Your cage," came Gideon's calm reply.
The priest's eyes had changed—gone was the softness, replaced by stillness and authority.
"Who the hell are you?" Vincent demanded, though his feet betrayed him, edging backward.
"That doesn't matter, Mr. Vincent." Gideon's lips curled in a faint smile. "What matters is this: you and your brother are both in my hands now."
Vincent scoffed and tried to retreat further. But he slammed into another invisible wall. Pain shot through his spine. Panic gnawed at him.
The quiet of the small town shattered beneath the barrage of blows as he tried—desperately, brutally—to break free. But no matter what he unleashed, the cage held.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple. He leaned against the barrier, trying to keep as much distance as possible from the unflinching priest.
Nearby, three hidden figures—Carly, Wade, and Sadie—watched in stunned silence.
"Is this… a superhero?" Wade muttered, dazed.
Sadie's throat tightened. She'd barely been able to follow Vincent's movements—he was at least the equal of a seasoned demon hunter. And yet Gideon… had done nothing, and still rendered him helpless.
Could it be the relics?
She touched the cross hanging at her chest, the one Gideon had given her. A holy aura pulsed from it—pure, cleansing, comforting. The opposite of the malice she knew too well.
Her thoughts broke when Gideon's voice rang out, firm and sharp:
"Interrogation begins!"
That was the signal. The three exchanged glances. Whatever this priest was, it was their cue to move. They slipped away toward the residential blocks.
Meanwhile, Gideon's voice cut like a blade:
"Why do you only kidnap young men and women? Where are they being held? Speak, or your brother suffers."
Vincent bared his teeth in a grin.
Gideon's eyes narrowed. His grip tightened—bone cracked. A tooth clattered to the floor. Lester screamed.
"Wrong answer."
Gideon dragged Lester upright. "It seems your bond of blood isn't as strong as you claim."
Lester cursed through his pain: "Coward! You can't even beat a priest!"
A shadow of hatred flickered in Vincent's eyes, but vanished just as quickly.
Gideon shoved a cloth back into Lester's mouth. "Clearly, you don't matter much to him."
The priest produced a book of exorcisms.
Vincent leaned back, strangely calm. He was trapped, yes—but the priest couldn't finish him. Not truly. And Azazel would soon arrive in Ambrose. Once he did, this priest would be erased.
Still, as Gideon began the rites, dread crept into Vincent's chest.
"An exorcism ritual?" His eyes widened. "That's advanced… far beyond a normal priest."
Then the holy power struck, pure and merciless.
"I'll talk!" Vincent broke, falling to his knees. He had other tricks—talismans of survival granted by Azazel—but he wouldn't waste them yet.
Gideon paused, listening, then pieced together the truth: another cult was stirring, plotting chaos.
The priest stroked his chin, recalling the exhibition incident. He'd report this to the Holy Church.
"…Now, will you release me?" Vincent asked suddenly.
Gideon turned slowly, expression flat.
"Release you? Did you ever release the innocents you tormented?" His words cut deep. "Tell me—what made you think I'd spare you?"
"You—!" Vincent's voice cracked, hoarse with rage.
"I walk under the Lord's protection," Gideon replied coldly, lifting the relics again.
The ritual resumed.
Vincent's body convulsed. He feigned weakness, collapsing, sacrificing pieces of his own flesh to endure. If he could just survive one round, fake his death, he could escape.
But then—
A second wave of holy light struck.
Vincent almost leapt from the ground in shock. He's still going?! Is he insane?
For a priest, overusing sacred power was suicidal. Yet this one pressed on, relentless, merciless.
"Damn it!" Vincent realized his miscalculation. His "play dead" trick would never work here.
Still, he clung on, fueled by spite. I'll remember you, priest.
But Gideon was emptying every weapon at his disposal—exorcism rites, sacred water, relics, even high-tier artifacts.
For me? Just me?
Vincent's mind reeled. I'm not even a high-ranking member of the cult! Just a pawn climbing the ladder! And you're throwing out treasures like this?!
He would have screamed it aloud if he could.
Instead, he broke—his body shredded, melting into a mass of blood. Only a small, pulsing sphere remained at his chest—Azazel's "gift," the core of his borrowed strength.
Vincent clung to consciousness by its power.
And then, to his horror—Gideon's eyes found it.
He had seen it too.
Another vial of consecrated holy water—aged twenty years—splashed down.
The last lump of flesh dissolved completely.
In his final flicker of awareness, Vincent spat out a venomous curse at Gideon. He had kept Azazel's secrets to the very end—his master would surely avenge him.
Only after confirming again and again that not a trace of corruption remained did Gideon finally withdraw his relics.
He then walked to Lester's side. The younger man was trembling with grief, but Gideon showed not the slightest pity. With precise, deliberate strikes, he dislocated each of Lester's joints, leaving him limp and helpless. Then he bound him tightly to a pillar, ready to deliver him back to the Holy Church of St. Jehovah. Perhaps the wretch could still be forced to reveal something about the cult.
As for Vincent and Bo? Bringing them along would be too dangerous—neither were human anymore, and anything could happen on the road.
Once all was secured, Gideon turned toward the wax museum. Vincent had already confessed the prisoners' location. And with another "Bo" lurking in the town, Sadie and the others might already be in danger—he had to go.
Far from Ambrose, along a lonely stretch of road, a black-robed figure raced through the forest canopy.
Suddenly, he stopped atop a tall tree, his hooded head tilting slightly.
"Destroyed?" Azazel's voice carried a note of surprise. "What happened in Ambrose?"
He had just felt one of the powers under his control vanish into nothing.
"Useless fool."
Pulling out a black crucifix, Azazel murmured guttural words in an ancient tongue. A moment later, he tucked the artifact away, then shot off again, moving several times faster than before.
Back in Ambrose.
Not long after Gideon left, the ground at the gas station convulsed violently. From beneath, a grotesque fleshy bud forced its way up, splitting open to reveal a man's head—Vincent.
Half his face was fused with the pulsing growth.
"The true body… dead?"
Shock flickered across his eyes, but it quickly faded. He slithered free, revealing that below his neck there was no torso, only a rope of sinewy flesh.
In the next instant, Vincent lunged at the puddle of blood that had been left behind, gulping it down along with chunks of the ground.
"Zzz… ssshh…"
His body convulsed in agony. The residue of holy water in the blood burned away half his flesh.
But then, from within the fleshy bud, a surge of black power erupted, knitting his ruined body back together.
"Haa… that was too close."
Sweat streamed down Vincent's face. He turned his head, and there was Lester—staring at him in horror.
Vincent's lips twisted into a feral grin as he writhed toward his brother.
A shrill scream tore through the street… and then, silence.