บท 1: Sacrificial Beginning
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**Chapter 1**
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The hoots of owls and the chirping of grasshoppers wove a delicate symphony into the dark night, a backdrop to the sinister murmurs that rose from an apparently abandoned house. Shadows danced across the walls of a dimly lit room, illuminated only by the flickering flames of candles haphazardly strewn about. At the center stood a stone altar, encircled by a blood-drawn pentagram that pulsed with an ominous energy. Two figures clad in black loomed at either end of the altar—one cradling a skull and a golden grail, the other gripping an ancient knife, their voices entwined in a chilling chant:
"Grande dio delle tenebre, eterno dio dell'inganno, ti preghiamo, ascolta la nostra preghiera."
The incantation echoed in the stillness, a haunting lullaby that filled the air with dread. Beneath the altar lay the lifeless bodies of countless children, their innocence swallowed by the dark rituals above. Suddenly, the chanting faltered, replaced by muffled cries that shattered the heavy silence. One of the hooded figures advanced toward a dark-haired child, locking eyes with him as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Jeremiah, I know you understand what is happening. Your father and I both love you with all our hearts, and I know you love us too, right?" she implored, her voice a syrupy blend of affection and malice.
Jeremiah's cries only deepened, the words stuck in his throat like thorns.
"Answer me," she demanded, her tone sharp as she slammed his head against the wall, a cruel smile curling her lips.
"Judith, you must not harm the vessel," her husband warned, his voice laced with urgency.
"I... I'm sorry," she replied, her smile returning like a mask. "You don't hate me, do you? Your brothers and sisters didn't hate me when we offered them up to God, so you shouldn't either, right? Right?"
"I... I don't hate you," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
Drawing him closer, she whispered, "Your death will bring great happiness, Jeremiah," as she lifted him, guiding him toward the altar. "That's my boy."
"I... I don't want to die," Jeremiah protested, desperation fueling his struggle to escape her grip. A sudden strike sent him crashing against a table, blood trickling from a gash in his hairline. Judith stalked toward him, her hood slipping back to reveal a face twisted with rage. She stomped on him relentlessly.
"Judith, stop!" Charles barked. "That's enough."
She grasped Jeremiah by the hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You should be grateful, you know. You're special, chosen to become god's vessel. Your siblings died because they weren't worthy, but you…" Her voice dripped with malevolence as she wiped the blood from her hands, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "...might just be the one."
Dragging him by the hair, she led him toward the altar. "Start the ritual."
Charles assisted Jeremiah onto the stone altar, laying him face-up while Judith secured his hands with chains embedded in the floor. As her husband gagged Jeremiah, she began to chant a different incantation, her voice rising in intensity.
"Oh dio delle tenebre e delle menzogne, ecco il nostro sacrificio, accettalo e dona la tua presenza a questo mondo."
The candle flames flickered violently, growing taller, their wax melting down the sides like the lifeblood of the room itself. Ritual artifacts hanging from the walls shattered as debris fell from the aged structure, dust swirling like spirits released from their prison. Judith's voice grew louder, more frenzied. Jeremiah screamed, his body convulsing violently against the altar, his wrists straining against the chains. The pentagram began to glow ominously, a deep crimson light pulsing in rhythm with his heart.
Charles stepped into the glowing pentagram, dagger in hand, his expression resolute. "Dalla morte di un discendente degli angeli, della tua stirpe che ti ha abbandonato, porta calamità sulle amate creazioni di Dio."
"Now, Charles, we couldn't have gotten this far with just any of the children."
"The Prince of Darkness is finally going to get—"
The light from the pentagram flickered and vanished. Judith and Charles exchanged horrified glances, realization dawning too late as the altar exploded, sending them crashing in opposite directions.
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**23rd December, 09:43**
**Sancta Veritas, Southern Italia**
**Saint Agnes Basilica**
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A tall, slender man strode down a beautifully adorned hallway, his dark blue button-down shirt and fitted trousers complemented by a white sash that hinted at authority. With a cigar perched between his lips, he reveled in the splendid stained glass motifs that depicted the triumphs of angels, a long red carpet stretching luxuriously beneath his feet. He rapped his knuckles against a massive wooden door, surprisingly light for its size.
"Come in," a feminine voice chimed from within.
With a dramatic flourish, he flung the door open, revealing a standard office. A large table separated him from the ginger-haired woman seated across from him.
"No smoking here, Micah," she quickly pointed out, her tone brisk.
"Karlee, can't you just look away for once?" he teased, pausing to admire himself in the reflection of a nearby mirror, adjusting his short blonde hair with a practiced hand. He winked at Karlee, his light blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
"So…" he plopped down, carelessly throwing his legs onto the table. Karlee, with a glint of steel in her eyes, retrieved a long steel bar from beneath her desk, and he hastily withdrew his legs.
"I still don't understand how you became a master exorcist with that attitude," she said, arching an eyebrow.
"I could say the same about you," he shot back, catching a small brown envelope she tossed his way. "Your assignment?"
"Exactly. There's been a resurgence of A-level spiritual threats in the area. You're also to find the source of the dark energy plaguing the place."
"Okay… So when I'm done, how about we go out? There's a lovely little place that—"
"Not interested," she interjected, cutting him off.
"Buzzkill," he pouted, crossing his arms dramatically.
"Also, Inquisitorial Captain Ezra has assigned two promising cadets to accompany you on this assignment," she added, a slight smirk on her lips.
"Wait, what?" Micah's eyebrows shot up in disbelief.
"Jerome Michael and Kari Uriel will join you for field experience," she explained matter-of-factly.
"They haven't even graduated yet!" he protested, incredulous.
"Orders from above," she replied with a nonchalant shrug.
"Orders from above, my ass," he muttered under his breath.
"If you don't like it, why not just move up? You clearly have the ability, and you've rejected the chance twice already."
"Time to go," he interrupted, adjusting his uniform with a flourish. "Wish me luck," he said, flashing a grin.
"You don't need it," she replied, shaking her head in exasperation.
He strolled out, a spring in his step. "Catch ya later!"
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A black van pulled up in front of a desolate building, its paint peeling like the remnants of forgotten hope. Micah stepped out, followed closely by a man in a black suit and glasses.
"Master Exorcist Micah, this is the location of the vengeful spirit you've been assigned to exorcise," the man stated, his voice trembling slightly.
"That's not the issue; it's the oppressive dark energy here that's suffocating," Micah replied, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"As a priest, I'm not adept at sensing spiritual energy. My apologies," the man said, looking sheepish.
"Come on, have some self-confidence, Desmond," Micah chided lightly, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "And I told you, drop the formality when we're outside the church, old man."
"My apologies," Desmond repeated, looking a bit flustered.
Micah rolled his eyes in amusement. "Time for work." He extracted a cigar, offering it to Desmond, who promptly declined.
"Put up the—"
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Desmond interrupted, pointing to the two teenagers who had just emerged from the van, dressed in white uniforms devoid of sashes.
"Oh, right, I almost forgot about you two. Pay attention, and I might just put in a good word to the Inquisitorial Captain for you," he warned with a wink. "Just stay put."
"That won't be necessary. I have enough talent to get the Inquisitorial Captain's attention. If you don't let me come with you, you won't get anything from me," Jerome said, leaning against the black van, his amber-colored eyes locking onto Micah's with fierce determination.
Jerome radiated confidence, his muscular frame and short, curly ginger hair commanding attention. His multiple ear piercings only added to his striking presence.
"I don't want you doing anything. That's fine by me," Micah shot back, crossing his arms defiantly.
"Kari?"
"Me?... I'm fine, carry on," she replied softly, her voice barely a whisper.
Kari was the embodiment of contrast, petite and timid, with long dyed pink hair styled in two playful ponytails that framed her delicate features.
Micah chuckled, "I'll be back soon. Keep your eyes peeled. Desmond, the barrier."
"Right away, sir," Desmond replied, pulling out a rosary and beginning his incantations:
"Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, santificato sia il tuo nome, iniziamo l'esorcismo nel nome del Padre, del Figlio e dello Spirito Santo, amen."
A dark barrier enveloped the building as Micah strolled inside, the heavy door thudding shut behind him.
Micah took a long drag from his cigar, relishing the moment. "I don't have all day. Come out," he called, his voice steady.
From the depths of the darkness, an ethereal, disfigured figure began to rise, its bloodstained garments hanging in tatters. Its jaw hung broken and slack, releasing a violent screech that echoed in the empty space.
"Alright, I hear y—"
Micah rolled away just in time to avoid a powerful punch aimed at his head. "You sure are quick."
The spirit lunged at him again, sending another jab his way. He parried, countering with a swift kick that sent it stumbling back. The spirit gathered dark energy within its maw, unleashing a blast aimed directly at Micah. He ducked and dashed forward, but his punch was blocked, leaving him open for the spirit's retaliation. Its punch connected with his chin, sending Micah reeling.
"You're tough too. How much are you tied to this world to hold this much hate?" he taunted, regaining his stance.
The spirit screeched again, its voice a mix of rage and despair.
"Sorry, I don't speak spirit," Micah quipped.
A golden aura began to shimmer around him, pulsating with power. "Time to take this seriously."
The aura shifted into lightning, crackling with energy. "Ramiel."
The sound of descending lightning reverberated through the air. As the smoke cleared, Micah stood enveloped in the raw energy of the storm. He charged at the spirit, a fist raised high, and with a swift motion, he punched a gaping hole through its chest. The spirit disintegrated into dust, leaving nothing but silence in its wake as the barrier retracted behind him.
"It's over," Desmond remarked, relief flooding his voice as Micah strolled back out, waving casually.
A sudden chill swept through the air, sending shivers down everyone's spines. Their eyes turned toward the silhouette of a child standing ominously across from them—a child radiating the malevolent energy that could make the strongest tremble, a child imbued with the darkness of the fallen Lightbearer.
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