Whilst the blade met the void, the light screamed amidst the darkness. It shone, it illuminated, and it tore.
The creeping black that once surrounded me tore apart with such force that I could only stare in awe. The sight that unravelled before me was so divine, so striking, and so pure.
Then the darkness faded, and somehow, I made it back to the room.
There was the man, the windows and Father Azrael still resting on the wall behind me like an old man that he definitely wasn't.
I blinked a few times, still trying to fully process what had just happened. I shot my eyes at the sword. There was no blade any longer—a wooden cross, still unusually heavy, laid on my palm.
The strange circle that surrounded me had also disappeared, and no efflorescent words were littering the space ahead.
As if it all never happened, they all vanished, whilst I stood—stupefied.
"So…" Father Azrael suddenly spoke, slicing through my thoughts. "How was your awakening?"
I immediately turned to look behind, meeting his gaze with a confused glint that refused to leave my eyes. "I.."
I tried to speak but no sensible words came out. I was like a toddler that was made to try proper food for the first time. There were so many feelings in me, and each one moved with strange energy, threatening to spill but never actually doing anything.
Whatever that was, it felt....good. Truly, 'good'.
Father Azrael sighed and nodded, chuckling to himself as if understanding my predicament. "We've all been there." he said. "How did it feel?"
"Amazing!" Finally a word escaped my lips, breaking me away from the shackles of internal conflict. Every feeling in me reached a singularity at once—a collective agreement with the only emotion that I now felt.
Awe. "It was….wonderful!" I pronounced, completely ignoring the lingering questions in my mind. I vividly remembered every moment—so well that I felt like I could re-experience it. However, as if my mind was unworthy, the radiant glow of the circle, and the soothing pulse of the blade seemed to elude me.
Father Azrael said nothing and simply watched me as I struggled to bottle up my feelings. Logically, I should ask questions first. A lot of questions.
And I did.
"But…" I suddenly said, dragging my words. "What actually happened to me?"
Father Azrael looked from left to right, glancing at each corner of the room as if analysing it. Then he walked over to me, taking his back off the 'resting spot.'
He stretched out his right hand and pointed at the bed. Following the direction of his arm, my gaze settled on the old man that laid on the bed.
He was no longer sickly blue, or deathly pale. His skin had a warm pink hue, whilst his cheeks blanketed a lush red blush. He was alive! And he was breathing. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, as a soft snore escaped his lips.
"Your case…" Father Azrael stated. "...is special."
Before I could ask what he meant, his arm shifted to the left, settling towards a desk that stood next to his bed.
Above the desk was a lamp, as well as a couple of books—stacked up on each other. My eyes read the title page of the uppermost book which was slightly open, resting its wings on the books beneath.
It read; Contract of Blood and Soul.
My eyes widened in instant horror. "Could that be…?"
Father Azrael only nodded slightly. "It's a highly dangerous artifact". Then staring at the man, he added. "He only read two pages. It was good he stopped there."
He looked at me, then gestured at the book with his chin. "Pick it up."
Ah.
There were several causes of demonic possession, a majority being caused by consistent negative emotions, sin, and this….
There were tools—which could also be people, or rather, posers of people, which demons used to obtain prey. Books written under the influence of dark magic were one of the many. They were called artifacts by the Academy, and they were ranked in order of the danger they posed.
The 'danger' implied what it could do to a person. This included whether or not it could invite a demon just by reading, and how dangerous the said demon was. Or could grow to be.
The demon that had manifested was invited simply after reading two pages of the artifact. That showed how dangerous it was, and it made me think twice before touching it.
Nevertheless I chose not to retort, considering that I had literally prevailed in a direct battle against the demon itself. The demon which should be dead now...right?
I walked towards the desk, as calmly as I could. Then when I stretched my hand to take the book, my eyes involuntarily rolled down and met a different sight.
It was a baby? A baby whose form was constructed purely from shadows. Shadows that twisted and churned—bubbled up like lava, and spat like wax.
No it was darkness!
My mind immediately recalled the appearance of the demon. And when I compared the sight before me with the one that freshly lingered in my memory—subconsiously or not, I connected some dots.
The demon wasn't completely finished?
The baby looked similar to the man. Why? Because it had an old man's face—but deformed, on a baby's body. The resemblance was there, no matter how odd it seemed. And it still retained the horrific look of the demon.
I wanted to jolt backwards in fear. Actually, I had wanted to for a few seconds now, but it seemed like my nervous system had completely shut down. My brain screamed to run, but my body stood still, staring down at the demon that lay on the floor.
It wiggled, shaking its little arms like an actual baby. It also seemed to cry, but since its mouth was on its forehead—-curved upside down, it wasn't the 'most wholesome' thing to behold. The triangular fangs didn't help either.
"That represents the old man's lingering attachment to the demon. And it's because of that book." Father Azrael explained. "It would take a while for him to forget the words that he read. But it would be best if the book was completely out of his reach."
I straightened my back, picking the book. And with a weirdly unperturbed demeanor, I took two steps backwards. My eyes remained stuck on the demon as I retreated, as if it would suddenly jump on my cassock yelling 'goo goo gaa gaa'.
2 steps became 4, then 8, then I was finally reunited with my teacher. "So…what do we do about the book…and that thing?"
"We seize the book." Father Azrael replied. "As for the 'thing', the Bible did say we could trample our enemies underfoot."
Immediately I stormed forward, compelled by a strange drive. I walked towards the baby and was about raising my feet as high as I could, when Father Azrael halted me.
"HEY YO! CHILLOUT!" Father Azrael screamed, breaking his calm demeanor. "Were you literally going to stomp the thingy to death?"
I tilted my head in confusion, my black hair falling by the sides. "That's what you said."
"Oh my.." He slapped his forehead, shutting his eyes. He was speechless.
"Urmm..Father?"
Father Azrael's face had a baffled expression. He stared at me like I committed a crime so heinous that it broke boundaries.
"W-what?" I asked, having no idea why he was staring so much at me. His eyes remained still, fixed on me for a few more seconds till they moved, drifting off through the window. He looked like a doll for a while as his pitch black irises didn't move even slightly.
Then suddenly they lit up.
"Sprinkle some anointing on it, and draw a cross with oil on the man's forehead." He suggested. But before I made any action, he continued.
"But…." He added, his playful tone setting in. "Let's take a picture first."
Huh?
A picture?
At first I stood confused, as if his last words didn't make any sense. Or maybe I had temporarily forgotten what a picture was. But when my brain cells stopped lagging, it clicked.
"Err…ok." I shrugged, not minding the idea. He was the type of person that liked to take pictures anyway. Although he was photogenic….and I was not.
He swiped out his smartphone from his pocket and opened the camera. Pushing himself closer to me, he raised his phone and took a picture.
Rather he was going to but he stopped midway. He looked around with a glint of dissatisfaction in his eyes. "We need a better background." He protested.
Seriously? A background.
Father Azrael's eyes suddenly lit up as if an ingenious idea had occurred to him. However, by memory, I knew it was the opposite.
"Why don't we feature the boss baby in the picture?" he asked with a playful smile drawn on his face. He didn't seem to mean his words to anyone that looked at him, but I knew he was serious.
He turned one-eighty degrees, prompting me to do the same. We were now facing the camera, with a living demon bawling inaudibly behind us.
He clicked the shutter button on his phone screen with a big wide smile on his face.
…
No, he didn't.
"The background isn't flashy enough." He complained, pondering on how he could improve the picture instead of just taking it already. Then after several seconds of mental imaging, he came up with another idea.
I thought it couldn't be worse. But I could nearly see a light bulb appear over his head. That was a bad sign.
"We need the baby to participate better in the photo." He suggested.
I didn't want to know what he meant. It sounded like a bad idea.
But he didn't try to explain either. Swiftly, he dug his hands into my pocket, took out my bottle of anointing oil and drew closer to the demon.
He popped open the cap like it was champagne but somehow caught it with his left hand. Then pressing his thumb over the lid to inhibit 95% of the space, he flung out of his arm.
Droplets of oil danced briefly under the golden radiance of the sun, glittering as the evening sun rays passed through them. They cascaded in their numbers, falling in a strangely majestic way.
However when the droplets touched the 'skin' of the demon, it let out a loud, painful shriek.
It was like the screeching of a bird cornered by its predator, yet a lot more agonising to the ear. It was miraculous that the old man had not woken up under such intensity, and such volume.
"Did I hear right.." Father Azrael questioned rhetorically. "That doesn't sound like goo goo gaa gaa."
Then as if trying to actually achieve his 'desired effect', he threw his arm out again, sprinkling more droplets of oil.
The response was abhorring to the ears. As its figure started to dissolve to nothing, shadows wisping away like flames being put out, it screamed.
It sounded a lot human this time. But not like a child's.
The voice of the 52 year old man screamed loudly at us, sending vibrations through the floor beneath us. We both felt its booming, yet miserable wail echo all around us, sweeping beneath our feet.
It was rambling words that made no sense. It sounded like a strange, unknown language, but the appalling cries of the demon mixed in with each sentence. The 'thing' spoke words that I failed to understand.
"Probably words from the book." Father Azrael muttered, completely unfazed by the screams of the demon. "Anyways…."
He looked at me.
"We have our background."