Fall, 1937
Sister Dove
“Let us pray.
“Father, who lie in heaven above, hallowed are you above all else, and holy is thy name. Praise be to you, Father, who has bestowed upon us such a divine mission, one we strive to accomplish with every living breath you’ve provided us. Praise be to you, Father, who guides our lowly hands with every strike, who is with us every step of this righteous purge. And praise be to you, Father, who shall bring us into your holy land when the time has come for our ascension.”
Father Crow spoke from his dark pulpit, grazed by the ever-shifting light of the many candles staged around the hall of his temple.
He spoke smooth as silk, his speech reverberating against the walls and making itself known to every member of the congregation. They stood, silent, lined up in two rows, each facing one another. Their bodies formed either side of a path of sorts, leading up to him.
“Father, we come to you as servants, in a time of great need. This city fights us at every opportunity, it combats our righteous sanctification. And so, we are left to starve, left to fight the dogs of this tainted city on our hands and knees.”
Quiet murmurs traveled around the crowd, many nodding their bowed heads in agreement with the words spoken.
“Yet, even in such trials and tribulations we know, Father, that you are with us always. You are not a simple observer, oh no! We look to you because we recognise you as so much more. As one who follows us through our every moment, and so we seek to glorify you with every second of our lives. So please, Father, guide our imperfect forms. Not only in our deft blows, but in our every deed: every step we take, every choice we make. Guide us.
“In your holy name,”
“AMEN.”
The word rang through the crowd, each and every person in the room speaking in unison. There was a long silence after it was uttered, and all stood quiet, the entire congregation unmoving. The candlelight of the building was just bright enough to make out each figure’s dark form, all shrouded in identical black cloaks.
Each head was covered with a wide brim hat, and each face was covered by a mask, all the same black, and all forming the visage of a bird. All were clearly distinguishable from each other, but none more than Father Crow.
His mask was cut high, so that it just barely covered all but the bottom of his nose, showing everything below it. It allowed him to speak much more clearly, something essential for the many sermons and speeches he would deliver regularly, but it also provided him something else.
An air of authority. Of superiority. The ways in which his outfit differed, the mask, the gold accents of his robe, and the large, shimmering sterling cross he wore around his neck, they all gave him a certain prestige compared to the rest of those gathered around the room.
And so the congregation stood, attentive to his every word, waiting for their next command.
Dove stood among them, towards the front of the left line. She couldn’t say what made Crow so entrancing, what facet of himself caused each member of the group to follow him so fervently.
But it didn’t really matter, did it? He was a righteous, holy man. Willing to do all the Hallow did not, to pick up the scattered pieces they left behind. He was determined to make Aceton a better place. He wished to purify it, and though that seemed an impossible task, she was sure he could do it.
He could fix this city.
Crow stood there in the silence for another moment, as if relishing it, but then, “Let us gather in the refectory.”
He turned from his pulpit, beginning his descent from the heighended platform he stood on. Two risen followed behind him as he made his way past each member of the congregation, their pale, white skin one of the only things easy to make out in the low light of the church. Horns poked out from just above their mask, and as they passed by Dove she grimaced.
Risen were infernals, though most priests didn’t like to call them that. Sanctified, many preferred to call them. Infernals who were won over by priests, convinced against the evil of their heritage. The most wicked creatures, made to serve God; it was like a twisted joke.
They were powerful allies, though, so many priests accepted them into their ranks. But Dove could just never shake that feeling. The feeling no wholly evil beast could be fixed. She never fully understood why Crow had the flock execute all sorts of different vessels and infernals, but these ones got off the hook. Special privilege, she supposed, but Crow accepted them, so she would as well.
To the best of her ability, of course.
By then Crow had reached the end of the long line of followers, and he put one hand to the air as he reached the door. “Dismissed!”
So the priests fell out of their lines, coalescing in a mass that treaded through the low light of the church halls, driven by their aching stomachs towards the room where they’d finally get to eat.
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The refectory was a slender room, the majority of its length taken up by the dining table. Plates sat squarely in front of their corresponding chairs, all filled with identical copies of the day’s meal.
Dove peered around the room as she entered through its wide doors, many others flooding in all the while, taking off their masks as they moved to sit down.
She quickly chose a place to sit: a small, empty patch of chairs that no one had thought to sit near yet. Deft hands moved back to her mask, loosening the strap that held it taught against her head and putting it aside in movements so quick and precise it was evident they were only learned through dull repetition. A small bowl of stew, a bread roll, and a short chalice of wine sat before her as she pulled her chair into the table.
Most days food was the same. Not that that was anything to complain about, though. The stew and bread was nourishing, and tasted well enough for no one to have any grievances after eating it nearly every day.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Dove raised a spoonful up to her mouth, but was swiftly interrupted by a voice calling from across the room.
“Sister Dove!”
Dove looked up mid-bite to see a familiar face approaching the opposite side of the table.
“Your mask got fixed!”
Sparrow.
He walked up from another side of the room, as if he’d been looking for her somewhere else, and pulled out the chair opposite of Dove to take a seat. His mask was loosened, and slung around the side of his neck, and he ran an idle hand through his textured hair as he approached. “I’m glad, seemed like it got roughed up badly last week.”
“Mhm.”
Had it already been a week? Crow had ordered her to rest these past few days, not only because of the gunshot wound, but so they had time to repair the mask. Even though she’d made it back to the church without irreparably damaging it, every second she wore it gave it ample opportunity to be further damaged. Crow had insisted he take it from her, bring it to those who created it so it could be fixed. And of course, she’d accepted. Although they ate without them on, wearing a mask everywhere else in the church was an unspoken rule. One that no one dared to break, lest they draw the ire of Crow.
“Your arm feeling alright?”
Dove quickly swallowed her food so she could keep in conversation with Sparrow, not that she really wanted to, though. Over her time in the congregation, she’d found herself to be increasingly isolated, never really interested in making conversation with any of her fellow priests. She was just happy to be with her own thoughts. There was no doubt that was clear to most around her, though for some, Sparrow included, that only made the idea of conversing with her that much more appealing.
“Yes, it’s fine. Only a dull pain now.” Dove frowned to herself a bit at that, though the self-critical nature of the frown probably wasn’t overwhelmingly apparent to Sparrow. Even with someone she knew as well as Sparrow, she still couldn’t help but keep from talking coldly. Only a few words, whatever was necessary to get her point across. She supposed that wasn’t a bad thing, but it still bothered her.
“Well, that’s good. You did great out there, by the way.” He took in a few spoonfuls of the stew, doing his best to talk while chewing, “Though, I’m sure you already knew that.”
“As did you, Brother Sparrow. I never got to thank you for taking care of that purple infernal, I’m not sure I would’ve been able to stop him.”
He smiled a little at that. “It was no problem, Sister Dove. And don’t sell yourself short, you did a fine job fending off the two of them before I ever stepped in!”
“I don’t know if I’d call it fine …”
“Well, I would. Infernals are much stronger than they ought to be, and the fact you were able to hold your ground that long against TWO of them while alone speaks volumes about your skill in that department.” He took another bite, “It was far better than I’d ever do!”
Dove gave him a curt smile. “Thank yo-”
“Ahem.”
The interruption came from behind Dove, a voice she hadn’t recognised at first. Sparrow looked up from Dove, and seemed to straighten immediately upon seeing the figure next to her chair. “Oh, Father Crow!”
“I do hope I’m not interrupting anything important …”
“Oh, no sir! Nothing at all, just idle conversation.”
“Good,” Crow lightly tapped Dove on the shoulder a few times, drawing her to look up at him. “I was wondering, Sister Dove, if you were free to come see me in my office. After dinner, of course. I have a few things I wish to discuss with you.”
“Yes, Father Crow. I’ll be there.”
“Great. I shall see you then.” He stepped back, turning to leave.
Her and Sparrow both sat there in silence for a moment, heads turned to watch Crow leave the large room, many priests following in their actions as he passed their length of the table.
“Odd. You know what that’s about?” Sparrow didn’t turn to look at her as he spoke.
“No. Something important, though. He usually doesn’t come out here.”
“Hm.” Sparrow grabbed the chalice in front of him, taking all too long of a sip.
Dove waited for Sparrow to pick up conversation again, but the moment never came. It seemed Crow’s visit had been food for thought enough that both were brought to silence.
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“And this has been confirmed?”
Crow nodded. So this was what had been so important. “Our congregation is gaining traction, Sister Dove. Word of our actions are spreading. This is good, but it brings with it certain risks, risks like the one we’ve currently got on our hands.”
Crows office was quite dark, lit by candlelight like most of the building. He sat reclined at his desk, which was currently covered in neat stacks of ancient-looking books and papers. He leafed through one of the piles of papers, eventually finding the pages he was looking for and pulling them out.
Dove stood attentively on the other side of the desk, mind whirring. “So a whole gang is solely focused on finding us?”
“Is the idea so hard to believe, Sister Dove? You know how much vessels mean to them: infernal scum.” He passed the small group of papers across the table to her, “Only natural they try to find us eventually.”
“I suppose.” Dove took the papers, skimming through them.
“The Lowriders, they’re called. A small gang of what seems like mostly informants. I’ve been receiving reports from scouts that they’ve been doing their best to get anything they can on us. Possibly for a high profile client.”
“High profile? Do you think it could be-”
“Septem? It’s a possibility.”
And Dove didn’t like that possibility. It pained her to say it, but Septem was leagues above them, and rife with infernals at that. If they came for the congregation, it’d all be over.
“That is why we need to quell it, here and now.”
“What are you asking me to do?”
Crow went silent for a moment. “Divine execution, Sister Dove.”
She frowned, “Would killing an entire gang not just further alert this high profile client? If we wipe an entire group out, I’d assume they’d think to just hire a more powerful gang to hunt us down-”
Crow quickly interjected, “I have thought this over, Sister Dove. That possibility is not lost on me.” He turned, picking up a small glass of blood-red wine and raising it. “This situation requires some hard decisions to be made, and this is what I’ve landed upon.” He took a small sip of the drink, “If it causes this theoretical client to come after us, we’ll just have to deal with that as well.
“I foresee these upcoming times being very difficult for us, Sister Dove. I trust that you will be able to handle them.”
Dove nodded. If Crow thought it to be their best option, she wouldn’t fight it.
Crow stared at her for a moment, before taking another sip of his drink. “I’ll have you leave next week. You should be getting an extensive brief within the next few days, and your team should be getting one a day or two after that.”
“Okay.”
Crow and Dove lie static in complete silence for a moment, Dove expecting to be dismissed, but Crow spoke again. “There is one last thing.”
“Hm?”
“I’ve had one of my risen scouting the location with a few of our flock on multiple occasions, just to get some information, and something interesting came up. He sensed a vessel within the Lowriders building. Not just once, but many times.”
Dove stiffened. “You think they’re holding a vessel?”
“No, I don’t. The sensing of the vessel was intermittent. Some visits it would be there, some it wouldn’t. I very much doubt a gang with that many vessels coming in and out would be so small, so …”
There’s no way.
“Sister Dove, there is a very real possibility there may be a devil working for the Lowriders. A devil that could very well be there during your attack on the building.”
A devil … But why would a devil join a small-time gang like the Lowdown? And with a vessel no less …
As if he read her mind, Crow spoke at once, “I’ve no idea why they would be there, and it may not even be a devil, but the possibility is there. I’m sure you know it is best to be safe than sorry in situations like this.”
Dove nodded to him, but her inner thoughts were much more unsure of the decision than she let on.
“Thank you for coming, Sister Dove, and I apologize for keeping you so long. You may go.”
Dove turned to leave, the door clicking shut behind her as she passed by it. She began aimlessly walking down the dark halls of the church, deep in thought. She couldn’t get over the possibility of having to face a devil so soon. Was she even prepared for something like that?
I’ve killed dozens of imps, but devils?
They were a whole different playing field. Imps couldn’t possess vessels: it made them a lot easier to deal with on vessel-related jobs, of which they often attended. For devils, though, vessels were a must if you wanted to be the strongest you could be. The extent to which a well-trained vessel could amplify their power was a horrifying one, but for devils, possessing vessels was just one of the many advantages they had over imps.
They were stronger; faster; more resilient; had wings; and most importantly, a hell-given power that was unique to them. Dove had never fought one, but she’d heard stories from other priests, stories of gruesome horror. A devil who’d melt through flesh and bone with a single touch. Another who could infest your mind, make you turn against those you trusted. It was always an ace up their sleeve, their ability to surprise you with an outlandish power, sometimes things you could’ve never even imagined possible.
To think she might have to fight one so soon …
Maybe it’s a test. A test from Him, to gauge my ability.
The Lord provided in ways that were hard to understand at times, and maybe this was one of them. Maybe what seemed like a horrible turn of events was just another opportunity he’d provided for her.
So she would take it.
Dove steeled herself: she would do it. And maybe there wouldn’t be a devil there, maybe the risen had gotten something wrong, or it was just an ordinary vessel with no one to possess it.
But if the devil was there that night …
I will kill it.